


Hang the Moon & Stars

by oneletterdiff



Series: The Moon & Stars [1]
Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Angst with a Hopeful Ending, Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, Fire Emblem: Three Houses Blue Lions Route, Ingrid Character Study, Marriage of Convenience, Minor Annette Fantine Dominic/Felix Hugo Fraldarius, Multi, Non-Explicit Sex, Post-Canon, Post-Timeskip | War Phase (Fire Emblem: Three Houses), or more accurately
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-15
Updated: 2020-10-21
Packaged: 2021-03-09 05:08:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 23,823
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27029371
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oneletterdiff/pseuds/oneletterdiff
Summary: After the war, Ingrid agrees to marry Felix. Her parents want her to. It’s politically advantageous. They’re friends, and she knows he’d treat her well. It shouldn’t matter that she suspects that he’s still in love with Annette — who died in the war — or that she’s still in love with Ashe — who didn’t.
Relationships: Ashe Duran | Ashe Ubert/Ingrid Brandl Galatea, Felix Hugo Fraldarius & Ingrid Brandl Galatea, Felix Hugo Fraldarius/Ingrid Brandl Galatea
Series: The Moon & Stars [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1980176
Comments: 22
Kudos: 39





	1. Notos

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to "Hang the Moon & Stars" (or HTMAS as I've been calling in my notes), an Ingrid-centric story I've been working on since April. A big thank you to my friend R for beta reading for me.
> 
>  **Some content warnings before we get into it**  
>  \- Character Death: in addition to the canonical deaths in Azure Moon, two of the Blue Lions die during the war in this story (Annette, as noted in the summary, and [spoiler character](https://oneletterdiff.tumblr.com/post/631984617036054528/sylvain))  
> \- There's a non-graphic sex scene in the first chapter
> 
> This fic is also for Ingrid Rarepair Week 2020. Check out all of the sweet sweet Ingrid content on [the event's twitter](https://twitter.com/ingridrarepair).

Everyone makes choices they must live with for the rest of their lives.

It’s a lesson Ingrid learned well in wartime. Her decision to sneak out of Galatea and meet up with Sylvain and Felix for the promised five-year reunion at Garreg Mach had led to Dimitri and Byleth. Dimitri and Byleth, in turn, led them into battle. Ingrid always had wanted to be a knight, though she had never expected it to go quite like this. The realities of war held far less chivalry than her younger self had dreamed. Still, she found some sort of relief in the way she excelled in her role on the battlefield.

Although Garreg Mach is ostensibly their base of operations, they’re almost constantly on the move. Dimitri’s rage and intentness upon rushing headlong into battle against Edelgard is tempered and bridled by the reason of Byleth, Sir Gilbert, and Lord Rodrigue, and as a result their ragtag army is dragging itself across Fódlan in a manner almost aimless.

Felix, predictably, has a number of choice words to say on the matter. “I’m surprised the boar hasn’t gotten us all killed already,” he mutters angrily over breakfast one morning.

Ingrid exchanges a weary glance with Sylvain. It’s nothing they haven’t heard before, and nothing they can say will make any difference to Felix. Still, Ingrid tries. She’s always had to play the role of peacemaker between the boys. “Most of the planning has fallen to Byleth,” she points out.

“The professor wouldn’t let us go into unnecessary danger,” Sylvain chimes in. “Neither would your father.”

“And they’re both altogether too soft when it comes the boar!” snaps Felix. “His idiotic, self-centered tendencies—”

His tirade is cut short by Annette and Mercedes walking past their table. Mercedes pauses to exchange pleasantries with Ingrid and Sylvain, while Annette frowns at Felix. “You shouldn’t speak so disparagingly about Dimitri,” she says in a disappointed voice.

Felix seems to shrink under her critical gaze. “I… I’m just worried about Fhirdiad,” he mumbles.

Annette’s face softens. “I’m worried too, so you can imagine the kind of stress Dimitri is under,” she says earnestly, reaching out to lay a hand on Felix’s shoulder. “Try to be more understanding, Felix, please?”

“I… will try,” Felix says reluctantly, speaking as though the words are being forcibly dragged out of him.

“I’ll hold you to it,” says Annette. She smiles brightly, then she and Mercedes continue on.

Felix watches them go and absent-mindedly brushes his hand over his shoulder where Annette had touched him.

“Felix has a cruuuuuush,” Sylvain teases in a singsong voice. As always, his good-natured ribbing doesn’t fail to get a rise out of their grumpy friend.

“I’ll kill you,” Felix hisses at him.

Sylvain laughs. “Am I wrong?” he asks. “I’ve never seen you so flustered.”

Ingrid has to agree with him, though she’d never say so aloud. Felix has always been so prickly with his feelings; she’s not about to tease him for casting longing glances after their sweet red-haired friend.

“I’m not _you_ , Sylvain,” snarls Felix. “I don’t smile at girls for the sole purpose of trying to trick them into bed!”

And there was the embarrassment-fueled lashing out that Ingrid had been hoping to avoid. But Sylvain grins. “I’m just waiting to meet the right girl for me,” he says. “Judging by your face, you already have.”

“Sylvain, be nice,” Ingrid says imploringly. It’s a useless request and they all know it.

“Annette, though? That surprises me,” says Sylvain, carrying on as though Ingrid hadn’t spoken. “Don’t get me wrong, Felix. She’d be a real catch. I just figured your taste would run a little less bubbly.”

“Don’t,” Felix growls and gets to his feet. “I’m done here.”

Ingrid watches him stomp off, then turns to Sylvain. “Well, you could’ve handled that better,” she tells him.

Sylvain shrugs. “He just needs a little prodding,” he says. “But he’ll eventually get his shit together and tell her.”

“That was not ‘a little prodding,’” says Ingrid crossly.

“Oh, you know Felix. His idea of subtle is an axe to the knee,” Sylvain says with an easy air.

Ingrid scowls. “No, that’s _your_ idea of subtle,” she says and moves to leave. “Felix was right to get out of here. You’re impossible.”

“I’ll see you at the war council later!” Sylvain calls after her.

She doesn’t respond, casting an eye around camp. Felix has long gone; she isn’t sure if he’d be good company right now anyways. Then she spots Mercedes and Annette. The two girls are sitting under a tree and discussing something in an animated manner. Ingrid goes to join them and sees that Ashe is also there.

Ashe lifts his head at her approach. When he sees that it’s her, he smiles warmly, and Ingrid’s insides flip a little bit, though she isn’t sure why. Maybe her something in the meal she abandoned when she walked away from Sylvain disagrees with her stomach.

“Oh, hello, Ingrid!” Mercedes greets her happily. “Done with your breakfast already?”

“No, but I was done with Sylvain’s bullshit,” Ingrid says and drops to sit with her three friends.

Ashe and Annette reward her comment with a laugh, even as Mercedes sighs and shakes her head. “He means well, I think,” the older girl says.

Ingrid made a face. “You don’t even know what he was saying.”

“Well, what _was_ he saying?” asks Annette, and suddenly Ingrid remembers what exactly Sylvain was being so rude to Felix about.

“Oh, um, you know, just his usual… stupidity,” she says. It sounds unconvincing even to her own ears. She’s never been a good liar.

Ashe gives her a look that says he wants to ask her it but can tell that she doesn’t want to be pressed on the matter. _He’s always been tactful,_ Ingrid thinks. _Unlike some people I could mention._

It’s easy for Ingrid to pass the rest of the morning under the tree with her friends, exchanging jokes and stories until it’s time for the war council, which meets regularly in the tent shared by Lord Rodrigue and Sir Gilbert. Ingrid is curious about their next plan of attack. As loath as she is to give any merit to Felix’s bitter grumblings about Dimitri, she can’t deny that their movements have felt haphazard at best.

Although Ingrid, Mercedes, Annette, and Ashe arrive on time for the war council, there’s already an argument under way when they get to the tent. “We’ve taken Myrddin! I want to press forward to Enbarr,” shouts Dimitri. “We’re so close!”

“I understand, Your Highness, but consider the situation in Fhirdiad,” Rodrigue replies pleadingly.

Dimitri jabs an angry finger at the map on the table in front of him. “The dead will have their due!” he snarls. “And I will give it to them in Enbarr!”

“Oh, good, we’re off to a great start already,” Sylvain mumbles to Ingrid, having stepped into the tent mere seconds after her.

Across the table from them, Felix looks ready to make a snide comment to Dimitri before his eyes slide over to where Annette is studying the map of Fódlan next to her father. He grits his teeth and says nothing. Ingrid can tell from the way Sylvain shifts next to her that she’s not the only one who has noticed.

Sir Gilbert taps the map with a gloved hand. “We’ve had reports that there are Imperial troops already en route to retake Myrddin. Before we can press on to Enbarr or change course to Fhirdiad, we may have no choice but to face them first,” he points out. “Gronder Field would be a strategic location to meet them.”

“Gronder Field…” repeats Annette musingly, and Ingrid wonders if she too is remembering how Byleth once led their class to victory there in a mock battle with the other houses of the Officers’ Academy. Was it really only five years ago?

 _There would be some poetic irony in going to battle against the Empire at Gronder Field,_ Ingrid thinks, then the war council moves on.

When Byleth is assigning shifts for guard duty, Ingrid volunteers to take the night watch. It’s a brutal time slot, but someone has to do it, and she hasn’t been sleeping well lately anyways.

“Ingrid, are you sure?” asks Sylvain. “You look exhausted.” When she scowls at him, he quickly adds, “No offense.”

“I’d rather take the night watch than sometime during the day,” Ingrid says honestly.

Byleth nods and asks, “Would you like a partner? I find guard duty to be more tolerable with someone else.”

“I’ll keep her company,” Ashe offers, flashing Ingrid a warm smile.

Ingrid can’t help but to smile back. She has always found Ashe’s smiles to be infectious. Back at Garreg Mach, she had more than one bad day turned around simply by Ashe telling her a story he thought she’d like with a silly grin on his face. There’s something in his joy that demands to be reciprocated. “That would be great,” she says. “Thank you, Ashe.”

In preparation for the night shift ahead, Ingrid catches a short nap when she can in the evening. She crawls into her bedroll in the tent she shares with Mercedes and Annette and prays for sleep to find her. It does eventually, but it’s not enough — it’s never enough — before she’s being shaken awake by Sylvain, who’d had the shift before hers.

“It’s all quiet out there,” he tells her in a low voice, careful not to disturb the other two girls asleep in the tent. “No sign of imperial troops or bandits or anything.”

“The inaction must be killing Felix,” Ingrid mumbles back and waits a minute for the sleep haze to disperse before heading out.

She meets Ashe on the outskirts of camp. Her partner for guard duty is bundled up a fur-lined cloak, a staple for winters anywhere in Fódlan. He nods silently in greeting when she arrives.

“Thank you for agreeing to take the graveyard shift with me,” Ingrid says again.

“It’s what I’d hope a friend would do for me,” says Ashe with a smile. “Also, it gives me a chance to ask about the bullshit with Sylvain this morning.”

Ingrid can tell from his voice that he’s been wondering about it since their earlier conversation beneath the tree. She laughs. “Oh, just him ragging on Felix for what appears to be feelings for Annette,” she explains. “So you can see why I didn’t want to say anything about it in front of her.”

Ashe grins. “I’m sure she would’ve loved to know that. She definitely had a crush on him when we were in school at Garreg Mach,” he replies. “And based on her reaction to seeing him again at the five year reunion, she still likes him.”

“I almost didn’t come to the reunion,” admits Ingrid.

“I’m glad you did come,” Ashe says softly. “I think this war would be a lot harder to get through if you weren’t here.”

Ingrid is touched by the sincerity in his voice even as the sentiment surprises her. “Sylvain and Felix talked me into it,” she says. “Mostly Sylvain. If we’re being honest, I think he had to talk Felix into it too.”

“I always did envy the closeness between the three of you back at the Officers’ Academy,” says Ashe, smiling wistfully. “It seemed like it must’ve been so nice to have such good friends you could count on.”

Ingrid snorts. “It would be generous to say that I was able to count on Sylvain back then,” she says, then sighs. “He’s changed so much since then. We all have, I suppose.” She picks at the skin around her fingernails, a bad habit she picked up sometime after the war began. She used to pick so badly her fingers would start to bleed, but she’s better about catching herself in time now.

Ashe’s gaze flickers down to her hands and he reaches out to cover them with his own, as if to tell her to stop working away at her own skin with her nails. The air is bitingly cold, but Ashe’s hands are so warm on hers. In his smile Ingrid sees an echo of the classmate who had shared her enthusiasm for books about the adventures of chivalrous knights. Everything had been so simple then. Despite the war, the years, and the loss, Ashe’s eyes are still just as kind as he looks at her.

Ingrid thinks she could lose herself into those eyes, bright and green like fresh grass. “You look like summer,” she says impulsively, and Ashe laughs.

“What does that mean?” he asks.

“You’re… it’s… green.” Ingrid struggles to find the right words. “Your eyes are so warm and happy. I mean, it makes me happy. That is to say, I like… summer.”

Ashe flushes, and the pink spreading across his cheeks makes his freckles stand out even more. “Ingrid,” he murmurs, and Ingrid thinks her name never sounded so beautiful as it does on his tongue.

She wants to kiss him, she realizes suddenly. The feeling is foreign to her. As a child, she’d been raised with the expectation of marriage to Glenn, so there had been no point in looking at other boys, then Glenn died and in her grief, she’d lost interest in the idea of boys in general. As it turns out, boys are still, in fact, interesting to her — or at least, this one is. “Ashe,” she whispers his name back to him and hopes that her voice sounds as nice to him as his does to her.

“You have also green eyes,” Ashe points out and hesitantly reaches up towards her face.

Ingrid wants to lean her face into his hand, but then he moves to tug her cloak’s hood securely over her hair. She can feel herself blushing, and the warmth runs down her body to pool in her stomach. “I guess it’s a pretty silly thing to talk about summer in the middle of winter,” she says sheepishly.

“I thought it was very pretty,” says Ashe shyly. His face is still pink. “Just like you.”

“Me?” Ingrid can’t help being surprised. _I’m not pretty._ Pretty was a word for Mercedes or Annette or any of the countless girls Sylvain was chasing after. It was never a word for her. “I’m not—”

Ashe interrupts her. “Oh, Ingrid, you _are_ ,” he says fervently. “I think my heart flips every time I see you wielding your lance. You’re just perfection. The most beautiful lady knight I could ever imagine.”

“Oh!” Ingrid feels suddenly breathless.

Blushing an even deeper shade of red, Ashe bites his lip and looks away. “I’m sorry, that was… I shouldn’t have said that. It was inappropriate of me.”

“No, I liked it!” Ingrid blurts out. She wants him to say it again. She wants him to tell her more. She wants, and isn’t really sure what it is that she wants, so she grabs his face, leans in, and kisses him before her thoughts have a chance to catch up with her actions.

Ashe stiffens at first, then relaxes into her. He wraps his arms around her waist, pulling her tight against him. His lips are warm, and so soft, and Ingrid feels like she’s melting in his embrace. She loves it. Moving her hands up his face, she threads her fingers into his hair.

 _I could easily stay like this for the rest of the night,_ thinks Ingrid. There is something in the way that Ashe holds her that makes her feel safe, like everything will be all right.

When Ashe pulls back to look at her, Ingrid is surprised by the affection in his eyes. “The most beautiful lady knight,” he repeats in a heated whisper.

She feels lightheaded in the best sort of way. _Is this what kissing is always like?_ Ingrid wonders. She has so little experience with it. Glenn had kissed her once and it had felt so perfunctory, like a chore required of both of them. Kissing Ashe is a whole different beast. _If I’d known it would feel like this, I would’ve kissed him much sooner._

“I… Ingrid.” Ashe’s voice is shaky, a note of uncertainty creeping into his tone. “Why did you kiss me?”

Fear clutches Ingrid’s heart with icy talons. She struggles away from him, feeling stupid. “Didn’t you like it?” she asks.

Ashe lunges forward to grab her before she can run away. “I did,” he says firmly. “I liked it so much, because I like _you_ so much. But… And I need to know if… Am I being a fool if I tell you that I’m absolutely enamored with you?”

Relief washing over her, Ingrid leans forward to rest her forehead against his shoulder. “Not a fool at all,” she says. “I was worried that _I_ was being a fool.”

“I’ve never seen you be foolish,” says Ashe teasingly. He slips a finger under Ingrid’s chin to tilt her face back up towards him. She knows her cheeks are still burning with a blush.

Navigating infatuation, feelings, the desire to kiss someone is all new territory for Ingrid. There are many things that she is certain in — her prowess as a soldier, how to plan a battle or the proper way to staunch a bleeding wound — but the way Ashe is gazing at her makes her feel entirely out of her depth. “Can I kiss you again?” she asks.

Ashe’s lips quirk. “You can kiss me as many times as you want,” he tells her.

“That could be an awful lot of times,” murmurs Ingrid.

“I was sort of hoping that would be the case,” Ashe replies, then kisses her.

And oh, it’s just as nice as the first kiss. Ingrid delights in the feeling of his lips on hers, and then also in the feeling of his tongue as he licks along her lower lip. It’s a delicious sensation. She licks back experimentally and is rewarded by Ashe’s lips parting for her tongue to slip into his mouth.Ashe groans and brings his hand by Ingrid’s chin to cup her face. His fingers are warm and comforting on her cheek. Ingrid wraps her arms around Ashe’s shoulders and thinks that she would be happy to never let him go.

When they part, Ashe is breathing heavily. “I don’t know if I should continue to be your partner for guard duty. It would be far too easy to get distracted,” he says with an embarrassed laugh and sits down on a nearby log.

Smiling, Ingrid takes a seat next to him. _He isn’t wrong._ “I can probably bully Sylvain into taking the night watch with me next time,” she says.

“I used to be so jealous of Sylvain,” admits Ashe. He looks amused about it now. “The two of you were so close and you were always cleaning up his messes for him, and I thought maybe you… you know… I thought maybe there was something going on there.”

“Sylvain?” Ingrid wants to laugh at the notion. “I would never!”

Ashe grins. “He always seemed so suave when we were students,” he explains. “You wouldn’t have been the first girl to fall victim to his charms.”

Ingrid wrinkles her nose. “I’ve known him for far too long,” she says, then thinks more about what Ashe said earlier. “You were jealous of him back at Garreg Mach?” she asks curiously.

Nodding, Ashe confesses, “I’ve been carrying a torch for you for a while now.”

The knowledge comes as a pleasant surprise to Ingrid. She thinks back to being seventeen and how every conversation she had with Ashe would leave her giddy and smiling. At the time, she wouldn’t have called it a crush — she didn’t have any space in her brain to think about that sort of thing — but maybe she should have. “That makes me happy to know,” she tells Ashe. It’s tempting to kiss him again, but Ingrid knows that they really should be keeping watch, even if there is no sign of movement out there, so she contents herself with settling in the nook of his arm, where it’s warm and cozy.

They spend the rest of their guard shift like that, talking quietly and enjoying the touch of their arms against each other. When the sunlight begins peaking across the tops of the trees, Ingrid stands up and stretches.

Ashe follows suit, rolling his neck from side to side. “Another night safe from the clutches of the Empire,” he jokes.

“Mercedes has next watch. I’ll grab her, if you want to head to bed,” offers Ingrid. “You must be tired.”

“Before you do, there’s something I want to do first,” Ashe says.

Confused, Ingrid tilts her head at him. “Okay?”

Ashe grins and draws her close for a lingering kiss. Ingrid can feel him smiling against her lips. “There,” he says afterwards. “That’s what I wanted to do.”

Ingrid can’t stop grinning the entire walk back to her tent. She rouses Mercedes, then crashes on her bedroll. Her dreams are filled with Ashe’s summer eyes and kissing and a feeling of peace. She wishes that it would never end. But, of course, it does.

The realization that Ashe is precious to her sharpens Ingrid’s awareness of him on the battlefield. Her romantic heart wants to her to go to Byleth and ask that she can always stay close to Ashe to keep on an eye on him when in battle, but her soldier’s mind knows that it wouldn’t be apractical or reasonable request. And she refuses to let herself be selfish.

Ashe, Felix, and Sylvain share a tent together when they’re on the road, and when the latter two have an evening of guard duty together, Ingrid decides to pay Ashe a visit. She wraps herself in her cloak, tells Annette that she’s going for a walk, and steals across camp to slip into the boys’ tent. Ashe is reading, sprawled on his bedroll, when Ingrid enters. He looks up from his book in surprise, his face breaking out into a smile when he sees her.

“I thought maybe I could keep you some company while Sylvain and Felix are out,” Ingrid says and crawls over to join Ashe.

He sets his book aside to wrap his arms around her. “I like the way you think.”

Ingrid twines her fingers into the hood of his tunic and kisses him. Ashe responds immediately. He pulls her close, his tongue swiping along her bottom lip. A hunger burns in Ingrid’s belly as his hands move up her arm to the back of her neck. Instinctively, she tilts her head back, and Ashe ducks to kiss her throat. He bites the soft bit of skin where her neck meets her shoulder, and Ingrid can’t help the moan that escapes her lips.

She wants him, she realizes with a jolt, not just to kiss her, but to touch her and to have all of her. She curls her fingers into Ashe’s hair as he kisses her neck. “Ashe,” she purrs. “Ashe.”

He stops to look at her. “Is everything okay?” he asks.

“Everything is so good,” she replies. Her voice is breathy as she thinks about the ways she wants to touch him. She cups Ashe’s face to kiss him, then drops her hand to his chest. “Can I?” she asks, toying with the first button on his tunic.

Ashe murmurs an eager assent. “You can do whatever you want to me,” he tells her.

Ingrid isn’t experienced in matters of love or sex. Most of what she knows of the latter stems from Sylvain’s raunchy tales of his exploits. She doesn’t know if Ashe is any more experienced than she is, and she isn’t sure which she hopes is the case. While she doesn’t much fancy the idea of neither them knowing what they’re doing, she is more worried about him finding her lacking.

“I… I’ve never…” she admits haltingly.

Ashe’s lips twitch. “I haven’t either,” he tells her.

“Oh, thank the goddess,” says Ingrid with a laugh. “I was afraid you’d think me naïve.”

“I could never,” Ashe assures her. “You… you’re so amazing. You’re strong and smart and beautiful, and I am constantly awestruck by you.”

Ingrid rolls her eyes. “Such shameless flattery.”

“Is it flattery if it’s true?” asks Ashe with a grin.

Again, Ingrid rolls her eyes, but she feels herself blushing at the sentiment anyways. She returns to her task of undoing the buttons on Ashe’s tunic. He shifts to reach for her cloak. They undress each other with shy smiles. Ashe is beyond gentle in the way he runs his hands over her body. She relishes every touch.

Once naked, Ingrid is struck by a sudden self-consciousness. No one has ever seen her like this before. Feeling more vulnerable than she ever has on the battlefield, Ingrid watches Ashe shimmy out of his underwear. She focuses on his freckles, which, as it turns out, extend beyond his face. The tiny spots cover the back of his neck and his upper arms, even on his legs. Without thinking, Ingrid reaches forward to brush her fingers across the freckles on Ashe’s thigh.

He shivers at her touch, his eyes fluttering closed. Covering Ingrid’s hand with his own, Ashe brings her fingers to his mouth and kisses them. As his lips ghost over her knuckles, he opens his eyes to look intently at Ingrid, and her nervousness vanishes. There’s a hunger in his gaze that makes Ingrid feel like her whole body is on fire. “Ashe,” she whispers. “Touch me?”

Ashe smiles and slips his hand down Ingrid’s back to her legs. “Can I kiss you?” he asks and touches the spot where her thigh meets her knee. “Here?”

“Yes,” breathes Ingrid. Lips or hands, she just wants to feel him. She isn’t particularly fussed about the details.

Lowering himself to settle between her legs, Ashe wraps his arms around her hips and presses kisses up her thigh. “You have the most beautiful legs,” he murmurs. “I used to daydream about them during school.”

“Ashe!”

He smiles sweetly up at her. “What? It’s true,” he says innocently.

Ingrid knows she is blushing. “It sounds so dirty when you say it like that,” she says.

“Good,” Ashe says and kisses her inner thigh. “It was supposed to be dirty.”

He kisses higher, and Ingrid gasps. She clutches at Ashe’s head, her fingers curling in his hair. “Oh! Oh, Ashe,” she moans. _Is this what Sylvain did to the girls he took to bed?_ She never imagined it would feel so good.

Ashe switches from kissing to licking, his tongue working at Ingrid with persistent strokes. Her fingers tighten in his hair as pleasure washes through her body. She has to bite her lip to stop herself from crying out. Ashe releases her hips and scoots up to give Ingrid a bashful smile. “Did that feel good?” he asks, face pink.

Still trying to catch her breath, Ingrid nods. “Really good,” she assures him. Her hands are still in his hair, and she uses the opportunity to bring his face to hers for an open-mouthed kiss. She can taste herself on his lips, she realizes with a start. As they kiss, she runs her hand down Ashe’s torso to reach between his legs. “Can I?” she asks.

“Please.” Ashe groans and shifts his hips to give Ingrid a better angle.

Ingrid delights in touching him. The war has made him strong, and the hardness of his body draws a sharp contrast to his soft demeanor. She kisses along his jawline as her hands move, enjoying the sound of Ashe’s breath coming quicker and quicker. “Ashe,” she murmurs and pulls back to look deep into his eyes. “I want you.”

Ashe’s eyes searches hers for a sign of unwillingness and finds none. “I want you too, Ingrid,” he whispers and leans forward for a hungry kiss. “I want you so badly.”

“Then take me,” replies Ingrid, eagerly meeting his kiss. “I’m all yours.”

What follows is a series of tender touches and soft caresses. Ashe presses fervent kisses to her face and neck. Ingrid holds him close to her as they make love. She feels it again, that pleasure building in her belly then rushing through her whole body. Ashe gasps when she bites down on his shoulder to muffle her cry.

His peak comes soon after hers. He moans her name, and Ingrid is surprised by how much it affects her. _He sounds so erotic,_ she thinks and feels something stir again inside of her. Grabbing his face, she kisses him thoroughly as he goes limp over her. Then he threads his fingers into her hair and kisses her back. Propping himself up on one elbow, he looks at her with a fierce fondness in his eyes.

“That was… wow,” says Ingrid. “Did you like it?”

Ashe laughs breathlessly and kisses her forehead. “Oh, Ingrid, I loved it,” he murmurs.

“Me too.” Ingrid tilts her face up to catch his lips with hers. “I had no idea what to expect, but it was good.”

“It _was_ good,” agrees Ashe. He holds out his arms to her, and Ingrid snuggles into his side.

Laying her head on his chest, she listens to sound of his heartbeat as it slows back down to its regular pace. Ashe plays with the ends of her hair as they lie together, and Ingrid thinks she has never felt as close to another person as she does in that moment. It is almost more intimate than the sex.

She wishes she could fall asleep right there, cuddled up to Ashe, but she doesn’t know when Felix and Sylvain will return from their guard shift. The thought of being caught in a state of undress by her two oldest friends does not appeal to Ingrid. With a groan, she sets about pulling on her clothing.

“I wish you could stay,” says Ashe.

“I wish I could too,” Ingrid tells him and drops a kiss on his nose.

Ashe tucks a loose strand of her hair behind her ear. He kisses her, then says, “I’ll see you in the morning.”

Ingrid leaves the tent with a giddy smile on her face. The memory of Ashe’s gentleness and his passion keeps her warm for the rest of the night.

She is always cautious, careful to make sure no one will notice the time she spends with Ashe. It may be wartime, but there are still certain expectations placed upon her as the daughter of a noble family. Her parents, always so concerned about her marriage prospects bringing good fortune to Galatea, had long instilled in her the importance of staying chaste until her wedding night.

They catch moments alone together when they can. It isn’t enough. Ingrid wishes she could spend all her time with Ashe, goddess damn the consequences, but indiscretion is a luxury that she cannot afford. She doesn’t tell anyone about the affection that has blossomed between her and Ashe. She doesn’t even mention it to Felix or Sylvain. There are only a handful of things Ingrid has kept from those two. She watches Ashes across the camp and thinks, _You’re my favorite secret._

Just as Sir Gilbert had suggested, Byleth decides on Gronder Field to meet the Imperial troops headed to the Great Bridge of Myrddin. The day before they are to march to Gronder, Dedue finds Ingrid and Ashe sharing a meager breakfast in the mess tent. “His Highness wants you two to scout ahead,” he tells them. “By land and by sky.”

They make sense as the choice of scouts. Ingrid can cover a large amount of ground with her pegasus, and Ashe has always been quick on horseback. “It’s going to be weird, seeing Gronder again,” says Ashe as they make their way to the stable.

Ingrid has to agree. “I’m trying not to think about it, honestly,” she tells Ashe.

They ready their mounts in a hurry, then meet Rodrigue by the outskirts of camp. “His Highness wants to make sure that the route between here and Gronder is clear,” Rodrigue informs them.

The glance Ashe shoots Ingrid tells her that he, like her, suspects that Dimitri could care less if the route to Gronder was clear; he would just fight anyone who stood in their way. More likely, the order comes from Rodrigue himself, or perhaps Sir Gilbert or Byleth.

“We’ll check the whole way to Gronder,” replies Ingrid with a nod.

Rodrigue smiles fondly at her. Ingrid has known him for most of her life, and as he looks at her with something akin to pride in his eyes, she is reminded of the fact that he would’ve been her father-in-law had things not gone wrong in Duscur those nine years ago. Wishing her and Ashe luck and speed, Rodrigue sends them off and returns to camp.

Leaning over from his mount to hers, Ashe cups her face and kisses her quickly. “May the goddess protect you, lady knight,” he whispers.

Ingrid thinks she’ll never tire of hearing Ashe call her “lady knight.”

Then Ashe urges his horse into a brisk trot, and Ingrid steers her pegasus into the sky. The air is crisp, making it the perfect day for flying in her opinion. When she looks down and sees Ashe gazing adoringly up at her, she can’t help but tease him. “Eyes on the road, soldier!”

“Yes, sir!” Ashe calls back with a grin, then turns his gaze away.

It doesn’t take them long to make their way to Gronder Field. The route they cut is unhindered. They see no sign of enemy troops.

“Looks like we’ll have an unimpeded march tomorrow,” Ashe notes when they pause just north of Gronder for a short rest before returning to camp.

“Yes,” agrees Ingrid. “At least we won’t have to fight our way here just to have another fight.” She is so tired of fighting, a weariness settling in her bones and muscles.

Ashe looks at her with eyes soft like he sees the unspeakable fatigue she feels. “I wish it could be different,” he says quietly. “I wish things could have gone differently.”

“I just don’t understand,” says Ingrid with a heavy sigh. “We were classmates. How did it end up like this?”

The fact that their enemy was once their friend, or something like it, has always been the elephant in the room. The feeling that maybe the war could have somehow been averted if someone, any of them, had paid more attention to Edelgard when they were in school looms large. Ingrid has never said it aloud before, though she is certain that she can’t be the only one thinking about it. After all, who would want to bring it up around Dimitri, who is already so enraged, or worse, around Byleth, who seems constantly saddened by it all?

“Maybe in a different universe, none of this had to happen. Fódlan is at peace, and we’re not about to try to kill our former friends,” Ashe muses, his voice starting out light but turning bitter by the end of his comment.

Allowing herself to finally give in to the urge to dwell on the horror of it, Ingrid picks at the skin around her thumbnail and wonders, “Who do you think she’ll have with her tomorrow? Hubert, obviously. He never leaves her side. But who else? Petra? Linhardt? I don’t want to fight them.”

They’d already encountered Ferdinand at Myrddin, where Felix had been forced kill to him before nearly being taken out by Lorenz. Ingrid had saved Felix, at the cost of cutting down her former classmate and one-time friend. She still has nightmares about it sometimes, sickening visions of his purple hair running red with his blood that she had spilled.

Ashe puts his arm around her shoulders and pulls her close. It’s a small comfort, but a comfort nonetheless. “Caspar and I used to sneak food scraps to the cats around the monastery together,” he says. He sounds just as wretched as Ingrid feels.

“I would force Bernadetta out of her room and to the training ground. She always acted so scared of me,” remembers Ingrid with an unhappy laugh. “Will she still be scared of me, do you think?”

“I guess we’ll find out tomorrow,” Ashe says quietly.

Ingrid sighs. “I guess we will.”

Their trip back to camp is quiet, solemn. Ingrid tries not to focus on the dark conversation they just had. Yes, the war is a terrible tragedy, but she is glad that she has Ashe with her to help her through it. As she flies, she watches him riding below her. _We work well together,_ she thinks. _A good pair of knights._

Then something else catches her eye: yellow banners moving in the distance.

Calling down a head’s up to Ashe, Ingrid urges her pegasus towards the banners. She flies just close enough to make out the insignia of the Leicester Alliance, then returns to Ashe. The presence of Alliance troops raises more questions than it answers. _Claude didn’t reply to the request to join with us against the Empire. Why would they be here?_ Then she remembers Lorenzand the other Alliance lord who had been killed at Myrddin. She feels sick to her stomach. Could the Alliance be seeking revenge for their deaths?

Ingrid makes their report when they return to camp. “The route will be clear for our march,” she tells Rodrigue. “But I did see something of note. Alliance forces appear to be rallying towards Gronder as well.”

Rodrigue responds to the news with optimism. “Perhaps we’ll have allies for tomorrow’s battle.”

“Or perhaps more enemies,” counters Sir Gilbert with a frown.

Privately, Ingrid has to agree with him, even as she hopes Rodrigue is right. The thought of having to fight against the Alliance in addition to the Empire makes her want to scream into a pillow. Not for the first time, she wonders what on earth drove Edelgard to start this war. _How can she stand to see so many killed in her name? And for what purpose?_ It’s unfathomable to Ingrid.

She sleeps well that night. She always has before battle, for whatever reason. In the morning, she puts on her armor while Mercedes and Annette prepare their spells for the coming fight. From the reports they’ve heard of the Imperial forces, plus the addition of the Alliance troops, it seems likely that Gronder Field will be their biggest battle yet. It makes Ingrid nervous, almost scared, to think about. From the stubborn set of Annette’s shoulders and the way Mercedes is fidgeting with a loose thread on her sleeve, Ingrid can tell she’s not the only one unsettled by the prospect.

“At least it won’t be a long march,” says Annette with a forced laugh.

They aren’t camped far from Gronder, and it should only take until the early afternoon to reach their destination. Ingrid would be lying if she said a part of her didn’t wish it would a longer march, just to put off the battle a little bit longer. _Selfish,_ she berates herself.

“I wonder why the Alliance…” Mercedes muses, her voice trailing off. She doesn’t need to finish the thought; Ingrid and Annette both know what she’s referring to.

“Guess we’ll find out when we see them,” says Ingrid.

The march to Gronder is tedious. Ingrid leads her pegasus as she walks, wanting to save her mount’s energy for the battle. Sylvain walks beside her, with Felix on his other side. They’ve always been a trio. The war hasn’t changed that.

“Rumor has it that the Emperor herself leads the Adrestian army today,” says Sylvain. He speaks lightly, as though discussing something as trivial as the weather.

“Good,” Felix replies curtly. “I’d like to take my sword to her.”

Sylvain laughs. “You sound like Dimitri.”

Felix scowls. “Say that again, I dare you,” he snaps.

“I think it’s safe to say that we’re all suffering from pre-battle nerves,” says Ingrid hastily, before either man can escalate the situation.

Mercedes, Annette, and Ashe are just ahead of them in the progression, and Ingrid can see Annette turning back towards them every time Felix raises his voice. _Looks like Ashe was right in assuming she reciprocates Felix’s feelings,_ thinks Ingrid with a rush of happiness for her surly friend.

Ashe glances back too, catching Ingrid’s eye with a grin, and Ingrid smiles back at him. She can’t help it. His affection leaves her feeling happy and warm. The warmth stays with her for the rest of the march to Gronder, where the Kingdom army sets themselves up on the northern edge of the field.

Ingrid can spot the crimson of the Imperial army to the southwest and the same golden banners of the Alliance that she saw yesterday to the southeast, and she knows the battle will be chaos. She stretches while her commanders talk strategy in the minutes before the fighting begins.

“Of all the things to remain in good condition since the war broke out, why did that damned ballista have to be one of them?” asks Sylvain, eyeing the wooden platform in the middle of the field with distaste. It had been quite the thorn in their side during the mock battle five years ago.

“If we could take control of the ballista…” muses Sir Gilbert.

From her spot next to her father, Annette speaks up. “I can do it!”

“I don’t know,” says Rodrigue. “It’d be risky.”

“I can take the center platform,” Annette insists. “It’ll be easy. You know I move faster than the ballista can fire.”

Felix backs her up. “It’s true. She’s more than capable,” he says, scowling at his father.

Annette flashes him a bright smile. “Put me in there. I’m your girl,” she says to Byleth.

“It looks like Bernadetta is manning the ballista. Are you sure you’ll be able to face her?”

Ingrid isn’t looking forward to fighting former classmates. The thought of taking her lance to Bernadetta, who she used to bully into archery practice on their free days, is sickening. It had been hard enough to face down Lorenz and Ferdinand, and she knew neither of them as well as she had Bernadetta. She knows their professor is asking more about the emotional conflict rather than the physical.

“I’ve got this,” says Annette with a confident nod.

Byleth directs Ingrid’s, Felix’s, and Mercedes’s troops to the eastern bridge, while their main force moves towards the western bridge and Annette leads her battalion down the middle bridge, backed up by Rodrigue. Moving through the wooded area, Ingrid keeps her eye on the action around the central platform. She can tell from the wind spells Annette is shooting off at Bernadetta that she’s only aiming to take their former classmate out of commission, not kill her. Rodrigue keeps the surrounding enemies at bay with blasts of Nosferatu.

Annette succeeds in knocking out Bernadetta and takes command of the ballista in a moment of triumph. _It really_ does _feel like the Battle of Lion and Eagle five years,_ thinks Ingrid, smiling despite herself.

Then the ground around the ballista bursts into flames, and all Ingrid can hear is the piercing sound of Annette screaming.


	2. Eurus

Ingrid doesn’t know if she’ll ever get used to the peace. She came of age during wartime, and now she isn’t sure what adulthood means without the threat of immanent death breathing down the back of her neck. She also isn’t really sure what adulthood means without Sylvain there to cause trouble and crack jokes and be a general thorn in her side. She never thought she’d miss that pain so much.

Life at Galatea is quiet. Ingrid is rarely alone; her parents and her older brother Harald keep her constant company whether she likes it or not. Any anger her family may have felt towards her for sneaking out to join the war is mellowed by the honor brought by her status as a hero who fought beside the king. Harald in particular seems to find great delight in badgering her for stories about her time on the frontlines.

And when Ingrid finds that she can no longer stand being at home, she makes trips to visit her friends. On her pegasus, she can make good time to nearly anywhere in Faerghus. She flies to Castle Gaspard to be with Ashe, to Fhirdiad to see Dimitri and Dedue, to one of the various churches Mercedes is staying at in her quest to reform the religious institutions of Fódlan. She doesn’t go to Fraldarius. She’s not sure if she’d be able to stomach spending time with Felix without Sylvain there to round out their trio.

_Is this how Dimitri felt after Duscur?_

Survivor’s guilt.

She and Mercedes don’t speak about Sylvain. They don’t speak about Annette. Ingrid can feel both their ghosts hanging in the air when she sees the other woman, and she knows it would only be more painful with Felix. A part of her is ashamed for leaving him alone. He lost his father, his best friend, and the woman he loved. She knows that the war damaged him worse than it ever did her, but still she can’t summon the strength to pay him a visit.

She says as much to Ashe during one of her trips to Castle Gaspard. “It’s a weakness,” she says, angry with herself. “I’m not being a good friend to him.”

“You’re hurting too,” says Ashe. “You can’t blame yourself for needing time to heal.”

Ingrid tucks herself into his arms and thinks about how lucky she feels to have him in her life. She loves seeing him in his element and the care he puts into rebuilding Gaspard and the surrounding land in the wake of the war. He is fierce in the way he fights for his people to have a better life. _Lord Lonato was wise in his choice to adopt Ashe,_ Ingrid thinks, not for the first time.

When they retire for the evening, it is to Ashe’s bedroom, a grand chamber with a large comfortable bed. The first time she had stayed the night at Gaspard, Ingrid had been so grateful to share a bed with Ashe rather than a smelly bedroll on the floor of a tent. It is a difference she still feels thankful for, as she undresses for the night.

“I don’t think I will ever get over how beautiful you are,” says Ashe, watching her with fond eyes. “Every time I see you, I’m blown away.”

Ingrid drapes her clothing over the chest at the foot of his bed, and turns to him with a smile. “Well, Mr. Blown Away, are you going to take me to bed or are you just going to stand there staring?” she teases.

Ashe grins. “Oh, the former, definitely," he says and strips off his clothing before catching Ingrid in his arms and kissing her thoroughly.

“Good boy,” croons Ingrid. She smiles against his lips, then yelps when he nibbles on her lower lip.

“Not that good,” Ashe says wickedly.

Ingrid tweaks his nipple, causing him to gasp. “Two can play at that game,” she tells him with a cheeky grin.

Ashe tackles her onto the bed. Their sex is often like this: playful and easy. Affectionate laughter is common when they’re in bed together. Sometimes, Ingrid’s face hurts from how much she smiles when she’s with Ashe. _I love you,_ she thinks as they delight in each other’s touch. _I love you so much._

They hold each other afterwards. Ingrid lays her head on Ashe’s shoulder, and he kisses her temple as his arms tighten around her. The feeling of security in his embrace is the last thought on her mind before she drifts off to sleep.

In the morning, Ingrid wakes before Ashe. Golden light filters through the curtained windows, highlighting the splattering of freckles across Ashe’s nose. Ingrid thinks that she would be happy to wake up every day like this, lying in bed and watching the gentle rise and fall of her lover’s chest as he sleeps. When Ashe wakes, he smiles at Ingrid, and it’s so beautiful. Ingrid wishes she could freeze time and stay in this moment forever.

She knows her time with Ashe has an expiration date. The war didn’t do much to help Galatea’s money problems.

Over breakfast, Ashe opens his mail. Ingrid can tell from the royal seal on one of the envelopes that it’s official business from Dimitri. She wonders if it has the same message as the one she received a few days ago. Ashe’s eyes widen with excitement when he reads the letter. “Dimitri wants me to be a knight for him, one of his sworn shields,” he tells Ingrid.

“You would be good at it,” says Ingrid. “You certainly proved yourself during the war.”

“Did he ask you too?” Ashe asks. “You proved yourself more than I did.”

Nodding slowly, Ingrid replies, “He asked me.”

Ashe grins. “You said yes, right? Now we can achieve our dream being knights together,” he says, voice brimming with enthusiasm.

Ingrid thinks about the letter she has written in response but not yet sent, explaining to Dimitri that while she is honored by his request, she must decline. She has a duty to Galatea. “I haven’t replied yet,” she tells Ashe evasively.

They pass the rest of the meal in quiet companionship. While Ashe fills out paperwork required by his role as Gaspard’s lord, Ingrid contemplates his situation. Gaspard was never a powerful territory, and the double scandals of Christophe’s alleged involvement with the Tragedy of Duscur and Lonato’s short-lived rebellion against the Church of Seiros left the land worse for the wear. What little gold Lonato had left to Ashe is being put towards maintaining the castle and paying the salaries of the local people. As a sworn shield of the king, Ashe would receive a modest income, but to Gaspard, it wouldn’t be trivial.

_Everything comes down to money, it seems. What a sad reality._

Ashe sees her off in the early afternoon. He goes up on tiptoe to give her a kiss after she mounts her pegasus. “I’ll miss you,” he murmurs.

“I’ll visit again soon,” promises Ingrid. She strokes the top of his head fondly, then straightens in her saddle.

It doesn’t take her long to fly home to Galatea. It’s a route she’s gotten quite familiar with in the months following the end of the war and her return home. When her family asked her about it, she told them that she was merely visiting her old school friends. It wasn’t a lie. Ashe _is_ a friend of hers from school, and although not as often, she does also make trips to see her other friends as well. But she can’t tell her parents that Ashe is someone special to her. They would be furious with her for throwing away her chastity and potentially ruining her marriage prospects, something which they’ve been counting on since she was a child.

Not for the first time, Ingrid wonders what it would have been like if Glenn hadn’t died. _I probably would’ve already been married by the time the war broke out_ , she realizes. _Maybe Glenn and I would’ve fought side by side._ They might have protected Dimitri together like she and Ashe had. _Or maybe he would’ve demanded I stay home in Fraldarius like a good little wife._ She will never know what might have been.

The train of thought leaves a bad taste in her mouth, and when she lands in Galatea, Ingrid busies herself with brushing down her pegasus. She has always felt at peace in the stables. She knows she will have to spend the next two weeks at home; her parents don’t like it when she disappears too often or for too long.

Ingrid is reading in the garden when they find her. Her father holds an opened letter. Her mother looks pleased. Ingrid recognizes the smiles on their faces. _Another proposal._ She feels so unspeakably tired. Fighting to keep a neutral expression on her face, she inquires politely about the letter in her father’s hand.

“I think you’ll like this proposal,” her mother tells her.

Ingrid wants to laugh. How would her mother have any idea what type of proposal would make her happy? The person she wants to spend the rest of her life with is a man with little wealth, a knight who had been born a commoner.

“Felix has asked for your hand,” says her mother, sounding as delighted as could be.

“What?” Ingrid can’t help the shock in her voice. _Felix?_

“It would be a good match. We had always hoped to tie ourselves to Fraldarius,” says her father. As if Ingrid didn’t know. An engagement to Felix had been offered in the year after Duscur, but Felix had refused, saying that if they were to marry, they would always be haunted by the ghost of Glenn.

 _How many ghosts will haunt us now?_ Ingrid wonders. She thinks of Ashe, his earnest green eyes, the splash of freckles across his nose, the way her name sounds in his voice. She thinks of Sylvain, whose easy warmth had once been a constant in her friendship with Felix. She thinks of Annette, her sweet determination and steadfast loyalty and how she screamed for Felix on the battlefield. She thinks of Felix’s anguish in the days following Annette’s death.

She imagines a road diverging before her. One path would take her back to Ashe, his love and affection, their easy companionship, and the eternal estrangement from her parents, while the other path is marked clearly as the road she is supposed to take: fetching a bride price high enough to pay off Galatea’s debts, which means being a lady and marrying Felix. She will do her duty. She’s always known that she would, but still she lets herself pretend for a moment that she might turn her back on her family in order to be an errant knight, wandering the land with her equally errant lover. _It would be a pretty story_ , she thinks sadly before decisively closing her book on that daydream.

“May I read his proposal?” asks Ingrid. Even though she already knows that she will accept for the sake of her family, she doesn’t understand Felix’s request. She hopes that his letter will offer some insight.

Her father relents, handing over the scroll, and tells her that Felix will be arriving in two days.

Ingrid nearly lets the letter flutter out of her hands at the news. “He’s coming here?”

“It’ll be nice to see him again, won’t it?” says her mother cheerfully.

Although she knows that Felix’s visit is for the purpose of furthering his proposal, a part of Ingrid is struck with the irrational fear that he is coming to berate her for leaving him alone after the end of the war. She wasn’t a very good friend to him in the months following Dimitri’s coronation, a fact for which she has long felt guilty.

It’s sunny the day Felix arrives. Ingrid stands with her parents in the courtyard to receive him. At her mother’s insistence, she wears one of her finest dresses, a pale blue gown with a swooping neckline. She would be more comfortable in her old wartime armor, but she knows it wouldn’t be proper.

She isn’t really sure what to expect when Felix rides into the courtyard. _Will he look much the same as before?_ Ingrid wonders, and as it turns out, he does. Everything about Felix is familiar. The way he moves and talks and thinks. It hasn’t changed. Ingrid knows Felix. She will never not know him.

What’s new is the determinedly courteous smile on his face as he bows first to her parents then to her. “My Lord and Lady Galatea, it’s good to see you again,” he says. “Ingrid, you look well.”

 _Oh, right. He’s here to court me. Of_ course _he needs to be polite and follows the rules of decorum._ Ingrid’s smile back is just as insipid and civil. “Felix, welcome,” she says and extends her hand to him. He takes it and kisses her knuckles. Ingrid has to stop herself from rolling her eyes at the gesture.

“Duke Fraldarius, we are most honored by your interest in our Ingrid,” her mother says in a simpering voice.

“My father always did want to strengthen our family’s bond with yours,” says Felix.

Ingrid’s father nods. “We agree entirely with his sentiment,” he tells Felix. “You certainly have our blessing, though ultimately the choice is up to Ingrid.”

They all look at Ingrid then. _I’m supposed to say something now, aren’t I?_ she realizes, but she isn’t sure what to say. She wants to grab Felix by the ear and demand an explanation from him like she might’ve once done when they were teenagers.

Luckily, Felix rescues her by saying, “Yes, I was hoping to make my case to Ingrid in person. Would you mind if we had a moment alone?” He offers his arm to Ingrid, and she takes it, more out of instinct than anything else. The whole encounter feels surreal, like a game of charades that she can’t quite keep up with.

Ingrid’s parents are more than happy to give them some privacy. Her mother suggests the library. “You two go and have your little chat,” she says, waving them away with a pleased smile.

Still holding onto Felix’s arm, Ingrid guides him to Galatea’s library, a cozy room near the gardens at the back of the castle. It’s pitiful when compared to the library at Garreg Mach, but Ingrid loves it all the same. She spent much of her childhood curled up on the loveseat inside with one book or another about questing knights and grand adventures.

Felix doesn’t speak until they reach library, where Ingrid drops his arm to close the door behind them. The moment she turns back to him, Felix says, “Thank you for not immediately laughing me out of Galatea.”

Ingrid raises an eyebrow at him. “Did you think I would?” she asks.

“It felt like a possibility,” admits Felix. “I know my proposal must’ve come as a surprise.”

“It did,” Ingrid says evenly. She waits for Felix to explain.

He does. “I’m expected to marry well,” he says. “Such is my noble duty. And I thought… well, you’re in the same boat. It could be convenient for both of us.”

“Felix, why me?” Ingrid can’t help but ask. “Fraldarius is an important duchy. I’m sure you could have any lady you wanted.” The moment the words leave her lips, she regrets it. How could she have spoken so carelessly? The lady Felix wanted had died in the war.

Felix sighs and rolls his head like he’s trying to soothe an aching muscle in his neck. “You know me,” he says simply. “And I trust you. Why would I want some fluttering noble lady who only sees me as the Duke of Fraldarius?”

“Aren’t you… what about Glenn?” asks Ingrid, naming the only ghost she can stand to bring up with Felix at this moment. “You had said, before, that you thought he would haunt a potential match between us.”

“That was years ago. I’ve come to terms with it. And what with the war, I think we’ll have bigger things to worry about haunting us,” says Felix with a twisted smile. It’s closest he will come to acknowledging Annette or Sylvain. Privately, Ingrid is grateful that at least he doesn’t know about her relationship with Ashe, though a part of her wonders if he would’ve even bothered to propose if he had known. As he if can read her mind, Felix shrugs, rolling his head again.

 _His neck must really be bothering him,_ Ingrid thinks and absentmindedly reaches out to squeeze his shoulder. It’s a gesture that comes naturally to her. She’s been hands-on with him for as long as she can remember. Only after does she stop to wonder if the touch means something different now that Felix is her potential fiancé.

He gives her a tight smile. “So how about it?” he asks. “Do you want to marry me?”

Ingrid thinks about it. The money from Fraldarius would be more than enough to help Galatea out of the hole they had been sitting in for decades, and Ingrid knows that even if they aren’t in love, she and Felix would always care for each other. They’ve been friends forever; he would never mistreat her. She could certainly do a lot worse than Felix.

“No hard feelings if you don’t,” says Felix, clearly interpreting her quietness as reluctance.

“That's not it,” Ingrid says with a shake of her head. “I was just thinking… I’m glad we’re friends. And that I’d rather marry a friend than a stranger.” She takes a deep breath, then tells Felix, “Yes, I accept your proposal.”

He releases a sigh of relief that Ingrid hadn't realized he was holding. “Simon will be pleased,” he says, naming the longtime steward of Fraldarius. “He’s always liked you, ever since we were children.”

“Oh, Simon was always so sweet to me,” agrees Ingrid. _Living in Fraldarius wouldn’t be bad._ She spent so many summers there as a child. She’s already familiar with the land and the castle and many of its inhabitants.

“He reminded me that I should bring a ring when I’m proposing to a lady,” Felix says and produces a tiny box from his pocket.

The gesture smacks of a romanticism that is entirely absent from their relationship. Ingrid wants to laugh. “It feels an awful lot like the games we’d play when we were children,” she tells Felix.

He nods. “We’d steal wooden swords from the training yard and pretend to be knights rescuing princesses,” he remembers. “You never wanted to be the princess.”

“Dimitri was prettier than me anyways,” jokes Ingrid. “It was a fun game.”

“Just putting on an act,” agrees Felix, and Ingrid isn’t sure if he’s talking about the make-believe amusements of their childhood or their upcoming marriage.

With a wry smile, she holds out her hand for Felix to take. He holds her hand more gently than she’s ever remembered him doing and slides the ring onto her finger. “For the future lady of Fraldarius,” says Felix in a funny voice.

Ingrid raises her hand to take a closer look at the ring, and her breath catches in her throat. She wonders if it’s a sick coincidence that the tiny jewel set on the silver band is the exact shade of Annette’s eyes. _Or did Felix buy this ring, before…_ She can’t bring herself to finish the thought.

Casting about for something else to focus on, she asks Felix why he sent his proposal to her parents. “I know we haven’t exchanged much correspondence lately, but you could’ve just asked me yourself,” she says. She hopes she doesn’t sound bitter. It wouldn’t be fair of her to be angry at Felix when she never reached out to him either.

“Your father has spent so many years obsessing over who your future husband would be, I figured he would be upset if I ignored him,” says Felix with a shrug. “Do you think he would’ve approved of the match if he thought it had been your own idea?”

Ingrid has to admit Felix has a point there. Still, a part of her wonders if it was some sort of retaliation for her lack of engagement with him after they returned to their respective homes following the end of the war. “Well,” she says, “my parents will be thrilled to know I’ve accepted your proposal.”

Felix smiles. “Shall we inform them of the good news?” he asks, gesturing at the door to the library.

“I’m sure they’re gossiping about us as we speak,” says Ingrid with a wry smile. _At least, I will never again have to listen to them fret over the future, worried that I won’t be able to attract a suitor wealthy enough._

They find her parents in the great hall. Before they enter, Felix suggests that Ingrid takes his arm. “It’s what they want to see,” he explains when she gives him a confused look.

 _Yes. It’s all a show, isn’t it?_ Ingrid links her arm with Felix’s, then they enter the hall. Ingrid’s father turns and immediately focuses on Ingrid’s hand laying on Felix’s arm. He smiles. _He sees the ring,_ realizes Ingrid.

“Father,” she says and makes herself smile. “Mother. I have decided to accept Felix’s proposal.”

“Oh, Ingrid!” her mother exclaims happily. “I just know you’ll make the most beautiful bride!”

Though calmer, her father looks equally pleased. “This is excellent news,” he says, then turns to Felix. “I look forward to the joining of our families.”

“As do I, my lord,” replies Felix with a bland smile. He steps away from Ingrid to clasp hands with her father.

As Felix discusses wedding logistics with her parents, Ingrid lets her mind wander. She couldn’t care less about the type of cake or seating arrangement or what dress she’ll wear. Being Felix’s wife won’t be a huge change, she thinks. _It’s just that I’ll be living in Fraldarius instead of Galatea._ Then she thinks about all of her little trips all over Faerghus to see her friends. _Will those have to stop?_ Felix has never been huge on flying, and it would feel wrong somehow to leave him behind _._ She doesn’t want to think about Ashe, the elephant in the room of her heart. Her visits to him will certainly have to end. It wouldn’t be proper at all.

 _I’ll break his heart_ , she realizes with a heavy sense of dread. Mindlessly, she twists the engagement ring around on her finger, then begins to pick at the skin next to her thumbnail.

Before she can drown in her misery, Ingrid’s attention is called back by her father asking Felix, “What about three moons from now? That should give us enough time to plan a proper wedding.”

Felix’s eyes slide from her father’s face to Ingrid’s. “Would that be acceptable for you?” he asks.

Ingrid glances down at her hands. The skin around her nails looks ragged. Curling her fingers into her hands to hide the telltale rawness, she looks back at Felix and forces a smile back onto her face. “Yes, three moons from now sounds wonderful.”

The rest of Felix’s visit passes like some strange dream. With her parents’ input, he sets a date for their wedding three moons out and proposes a guest list. Ingrid nods along with every suggestion. The details don’t really matter to her. _Why should they?_ she thinks with just the barest hint of bitterness.

With the basic planning squared away, Ingrid’s parents leave her to escort Felix to the stable, where he collects his horse and prepares to ride back to Fraldarius. “Are you sure you don’t want the spend the night?” asks Ingrid. “It’s already getting dark.”

Felix shakes his head. “I wouldn’t want to impose.”

“You wouldn’t be imposing,” Ingrid protests. “You know we have spare rooms, and my parents love you.”

“I really should be going,” says Felix with another shake of his head.

Ingrid notices that he isn’t looking at her. Instead his eyes are trained purposefully on his hands as he cinches the saddle on his horse. She does her best to not take it personally. _Felix has never been good at socializing,_ she reminds herself with a wry smile. She follows Felix to the gate and tells him to ride safely.

“What? Are you afraid some wandering brigand will off me on my way home?” Felix asks, laughing as he mounts his horse.

“I suppose I should be more worried for the brigand’s safety than yours,” teases Ingrid. She reaches up with one hand, and Felix catches it in his own. She squeezes his fingers and hopes that he understands what she means by it: _I’m glad you’re still alive._

“I’ll see you at Fraldarius,” says Felix awkwardly, “for the wedding.”

Ingrid nods and releases his hand. “Yes. I’ll see you in three moons,” she tells him and has to resist the urge to laugh — not a light-hearted giggle but a full-bellied guffaw — at the ridiculousness of it all. She’s going to marry Felix. He just planned their wedding with her parents. And tomorrow she will have to fly to Gaspard and break Ashe’s heart. _It really is true that life isn’t like the fairytales._

After Felix departs, she goes to her room. She can’t bear the thought of facing her parents and their ecstatic “Oh, Ingrid, you’re going to the Duchess of Fraldarius!” energy right now. Sprawling across her bed, she screws her eyes shut and tries to not think about Ashe. She fails miserably, tries to remind herself that at least it was good while it lasted, and doesn’t sleep well that night.

The next morning, she skips breakfast to avoid her parents, and slips out to fly to Gaspard for one final visit.

Ashe’s face lights up when he sees her, and Ingrid feels sick to her stomach. She wants nothing more than to reach out for him, but she knows it wouldn’t be proper, given the message she is here to deliver. “Ashe.” Her voice cracks. She swallows thickly, then starts again. “I’m sorry to say that this is goodbye, Ashe.”

“What do you mean?” he asks, sounding alarmed. He moves immediately to hold her, but Ingrid steps back quickly. She knows that if he were to touch her right now, she would break down.

“I… my parents have finalized my marriage prospects,” she tells him. “I am to be wed in three moons’ time.”

Ashe freezes. “So soon?” he asks.

Ingrid nods stiffly. “So I can’t see you anymore,” she explains. “We always knew it was coming. I was always going to have to do my duty sooner or later.”

“You’re a hero of the war,” says Ashe indignantly. “They shouldn’t get to force you to—”

Ingrid interrupts him. “They aren’t forcing me. I agreed,” she says firmly.

Ashe’s face pinches, and Ingrid wonders if he’s thinking back to the conversations they had as students at Officer’s Academy. They had bonded over their shared love for stories of chivalry, and Ashe had suggested that they become knights together. Ingrid had told him that she wouldn’t be able to do that. Her family was depending on her to marry a nobleman whose wealth could help Galatea’s precarious situation, so her dream of becoming a knight would have to stay just that: a dream. Still, Ashe had encouraged her to never give up on the idea anyways.

“If… if I had more money,” Ashe says haltingly, and Ingrid knows what he’s trying to say.

She wants to cry at the unfairness of it all. “I know. I’m sorry, Ashe.”

“I’m sorry too.”

Feeling the beginnings of tears forming, Ingrid rubs a hand over her eyes in a futile attempt to stop herself from weeping. “I wish it could be different,” she says, then she lets herself cry.

Ashe reaches out for her again and this time she lets him. He cradles her in his arms.

“I love you,” she whispers into his neck. “Ashe, I love you so much.”

“Shh, I know, Ingrid,” he murmurs and strokes her hair.

She pulls back to look at his face, trying to commit it to memory because she isn’t sure when she’ll see him again. “I’m sorry that we couldn’t be knights together,” she says.

Ashe smiles, soft and sad. “You will always be a lady knight,” he tells her, then presses a soft kiss to her forehead. “I love you too. More than you will ever know.”

“I’ll always treasure the time we had,” says Ingrid. “Always.” She kisses him. It is brief, sorrowful. She hopes that it will convey to Ashe all of her dreams and her regret and her love. She loves him so fiercely, in a way that she hadn’t thought possible. “This is goodbye,” she repeats, more to herself than to him.

Ashe brushes her hair out of her face, tenderly tucking a strand behind her ear. “Goodbye, Ingrid,” he says. He watches as she mounts her pegasus and prepares to leave.

Ingrid urges her pegasus into the air with a squeeze of her legs. Resisting the urge to look down at Ashe and Castle Gaspard disappearing below her, she instead watches the white clouds ahead of her. She made her choice and there’s no looking back now.

* * *

The wedding is a grander affair than Ingrid would have liked. Still, she understands the thinking behind it: a lavish ceremony celebrating the union of two noble houses is the ideal way to show that they are moving on from the hardships of the war.

Harald and her parents spend the day fawning over her. It’s an important event for them, she knows, so she lets them, even as she wishes everything were quieter, smaller, less extravagant. Her mother, especially, looks to be almost on the verge of tears as she adjusts the silver clip holding up Ingrid’s hair and tells her, “You look so beautiful.”

“Thank you.” Ingrid does her best to smile. It’s not that she is sad, exactly, but her parents are far happier about her wedding than she is. She can’t ignore the feeling that the day is more for everyone else than it is for her.

When her father walks her down the aisle of the chapel attached to the Fraldarius estate, she steps carefully in order to avoid stumbling over the white train of her dress. It is a longer and heavier hemline than she is used to—a traditional Faerghus wedding gown. Ingrid holds her head high, tries to make everyone proud.

At the alter, Felix looks begrudgingly clean-cut. Ingrid can’t help the smile that breaks out on her face as she imagines the steward Simon wrestling him into looking so presentable and proper. Felix meets her gaze with a half-hearted smile of his own. There’s something surreal about all of it. Ingrid doesn’t think it’s really sunk in for her that she’s about to become Felix’s wife.

The exchanging of vows is brief. It’s all fairly standard, except that they had decided to do away with the traditional gender differences, so Ingrid and Felix both promise to cherish, honor, and protect the other.

When the bishop finishes his speech, Felix turns to Ingrid. She can feel the eyes of everyone in the chapel on her as she dutifully leans forward to meet Felix when he kisses her. The kiss is quick and polite, and Ingrid is reminded of the only time Glenn had kissed her. It had felt much the same way. Ingrid catches herself smiling despite the sadness of the comparison. _I suppose I_ was _always meant to be a Fraldarius._

Stepping away, Felix smiles back at her, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. He used to look at Annette like she hung the moon and stars. Ingrid wonders if he’ll ever look at her that way. She wonders if she even wants him to.

Pushing the thought down as far as she can, Ingrid turns her gaze to the rest of the chapel. Her parents are weepy in the front row, and even Harald looks touched. Behind them sit a smattering of extended family members, then some other members of the Faerghus nobility.

At the banquet after the ceremony, Ingrid and Felix sit together while various guests come by to express their congratulations. Not many of their friends are in attendance, only Mercedes and Dedue. Dimitri had sent a lovely letter expressing his regret that some unavoidable business regarding the lords of the former Adrestian Empire would prevent him from coming, and Ingrid hadn’t bothered to send an invitation to Ashe. It would’ve been too weird and painful.

Still, she misses him, and Dimitri, and everyone else who she loves that cannot be there, but it is Sylvain’s absence that she feels most keenly. If someone had told her five years ago that not only would she marry Felix but that Sylvain wouldn’t be there to tease and congratulate them, she wouldn’t have believed it. _He should be here. He should be laughing and commenting on the unexpectedness of our match._

Next to her, Felix drums his fingers on the table. He is clearly already bored and done with the pomp and circumstance of the day. Ingrid nudges his knee with hers under the table and shoots him a look that she hopes conveys the message of _Behave yourself!_ There isn’t that much time left in the dinner.

Finally, the banquet draws to an end, and the newly minted Duke and Duchess of Fraldarius see off their guests. Ingrid, who has always been better at playing the role expected of her, tries to smile twice as widely to make up for Felix’s inability to maintain a joyous facade. She hugs Dedue and Mercedes goodbye with promises to write frequently.

Dedue smiles fondly and swears that he’ll convince Dimitri to send letters as well. Mercedes presses a kiss to Ingrid’s cheek before turning to Felix. With a surprising amount of ease, she wrangles from Felix a promise to send a donation to her for one of the churches she’s been renovating. “And you be kind to Ingrid now, you hear me?” she says firmly. “I’ll be very upset if I learn that you’re neglecting your wife.”

“I suspect you should be more worried about Ingrid neglecting _me_ in favor of her beloved horses and pegasi,” teases Felix, but all the same, he assures Mercedes that he will treat Ingrid with nothing less than the utmost respect and affection.

The last guests to go are Ingrid’s family. Her parents cry and kiss her cheeks, and Ingrid sighs and smiles and says, “Don’t worry. I’ll write you all the time. I’ll even visit when I can.” As her family leaves, she and Felix wave, and Felix grabs her free hand with his. Ingrid recognizes the gesture for what it is: a show of being a happy couple for her parents.

Their wedding night is awkward. Despite being friends since childhood and going through the hell of war together, Ingrid finds she doesn’t know what to say to Felix. She knows that tradition would have them lie together, but she isn’t interested and doubts Felix is either. Regardless, she knows that he would never try to pressure or force her to anything she didn’t want.

She wonders if he thinks she’s still a maiden. Then she wonders if he’d ever been with a woman. _He must’ve,_ she decides. Most everyone had dealt with the prospect of potential death during the war by finding some sort of lover. She can’t bring herself to wonder if he had been with Annette.

“What a racket,” says Felix, his words providing Ingrid with a welcome distraction. “Is there anything more idiotic than the pageantry of nobility?”

“It does seem rather silly,” she agrees.

Felix sits with her on the bed. “I’ve had Simon prepare another room for you,” he tells Ingrid. “I’m assuming you’d rather have your own bed in the future.”

“Thank you.”

It isn’t unusual for married nobles to keep their own chambers, even if they are expected to spend their wedding night together. Ingrid tilts her head to look at Felix and tries to imagine sharing a bed with him.

Their hair is about the same length now. They had both cut their hair near the start of the war, and now that it’s a time of peace, they are both growing it back out. The men of Fraldarius always have favored a long style. Ingrid longs to undo Felix’s bun and braid his dark hair as she had done once during their school days while Sylvain watched and made jokes, but she worries that the gesture will mean something different now that they are married. _Married._ She still can’t believe it.

Felix notices her looking at him. “What?” he asks in his typical blunt manner.

Ingrid shakes her head. “It’s nothing,” she says, then moves to undo the buttons on her wedding dress.

“What are you doing?” asks Felix, and he sounds genuinely confused.

Fixing him with a steady look, Ingrid says, “I’m not sleeping in this gown.”

Felix looks almost panicked. “I… of course,” he stammers.

 _He’s alarmed at the prospect of seeing me naked,_ realizes Ingrid. _We really are just like children playing at a game of house._ “I have a shift on underneath,” she tells him. She’s not attracted to him, but it still stings to know that he sees her as such a sexless creature.

“Of course,” repeats Felix. He loosens the collar of his shirt. “Do you mind if I…?”

Ingrid laughs, not unkindly. “I’m not going to forbid you from undressing to go to bed,” she says. “That feels like a bad way to start a marriage, wouldn’t you say?”

Felix blushes. Busying himself with the buttons of his shirt, he can’t meet Ingrid’s gaze as he tells her, “I just don’t want to make you uncomfortable. I know we aren’t… I know this isn’t marriage of love.”

“No,” agrees Ingrid. “But it’s not a marriage of distaste either. You’re one of my oldest friends, Felix, and I will always care deeply for you.”

“I hope you know that I feel the same way about you,” Felix says. His voice is gruff in a practiced way that Ingrid is familiar with. He doesn’t want to sound weak. “And I only proposed marriage because I figured the match would have many advantages for us both.”

Smiling, Ingrid reaches down to interlace their fingers. “It’s a marriage of companionship,” she says and holds up their joined hands.

“Companionship,” Felix echoes, and it sounds like an oath. He squeezes her hand before letting go and returning to the task of removing his shirt.

Ingrid stands up to step out of her wedding dress and folds it over the back of the armchair in the corner of the room. It feels weird to be with Felix in nothing more than her shift, but she knows it’s a feeling she will get used to in time. For now, she averts her eyes as he strips down to his underwear.

“I’ll get the light,” Felix tells her, so Ingrid climbs into bed and gazes up at the room’s wooden ceiling while he walks to the table to extinguish the torch.

She can feel the blankets move when Felix joins her in bed. They lie together in silence. Ingrid thinks about the day they just had: the ceremony and the banquet and her family helping her move permanently to Fraldarius. _My parents probably believe that Felix is deflowering me at this very moment._ She almost laughs at the thought.

Beside her, Felix is quiet. He might also be reflecting on the day’s events, though he gives no indication of it. The silence is unbearable to Ingrid. It feels so heavy, a stark contrast to the easy affection and laughter she shared in bed with Ashe. Ingrid immediately reprimands herself. _That’s over now,_ she reminds herself. _There’s no point in thinking about it anymore._

In the dark, Ingrid reaches out. She doesn’t want to let the night end like this, together with Felix but both alone in their own thoughts. Her fingers brush Felix’s back. “I’m glad it’s you,” she whispers. “There’s no other noble I’d rather be married to.”

Felix flips over to face her and takes her hand in his. Bringing their intertwined fingers to his lips in something almost like a kiss, he whispers back, “I’m glad it’s you too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ironically enough, Ingrid/Ashe and Felix/Annette are my two favorite Blue Lions ships and YET. When I first thought of this story, my initial word vomit pass of writing was prominently the basis for this chapter specifically, especially Ingrid's conversation with her parents about Felix and then her and Felix talking about his proposal.
> 
> I have [some](https://twitter.com/oneletterdiff/status/1317150613629620224?s=20) [illustrations](https://twitter.com/oneletterdiff/status/1317542014045417473?s=20) for chapter 1 over on my twitter. Give them a looksee if you're interested! I just think it's neat when Ingrid and Ashe kiss. If you also think it's neat when Ingrid and Ashe kiss, but want something spicier (and without any angst), I wrote a kind of silly little smut fic about the two of them roleplaying in bed called [Kneel For Your King](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26537458/chapters/64686211).
> 
> And if you liked this chapter's discussion of medieval-style marriage politics and Ingrid having to go through a hard personal choice, you might like [Complacency's Gambit (and Several Other Reasons to Not Speak Now)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26413711/chapters/64347562) by eyegnats. It's a fabulous Ingrid/Sylvain fic, and I can't recommend it enough!


	3. Boreas

Ingrid worries herself to exhaustion over the prospect of Dimitri coming to Fraldarius. Ashe has become one of Dimitri’s most trusted advisors since becoming a royal knight, and he is sure to be among the procession. She isn’t sure if she’s ready to face him.

“It’s just Dimitri,” says Felix with an affectionately teasing grin as he watches her double- then triple-check every inch of the castle in preparation of the visit.

“Ah, it’s just…” Ingrid can’t tell him the truth. Felix may be her best friend, but he can’t know. “It’s just this is our first time hosting _the king_ as a married couple,” she says instead. “That feels like a big deal to me.”

Felix laughs, not unkindly. “I’m sure _His Majesty_ will be pleased with anything we present to him,” he says, emphasizing the title with a mocking drawl. “You know how much of a sentimental fool he is.”

Torn between laughing and sighing, Ingrid chooses instead to gently tweak Felix’s ear. “Be nice,” she tells him, but with a good-natured grin. The rebuilding of Felix and Dimitri’s friendship had been a long process but a rewarding one. Ingrid is glad for it. It makes the ache of losing Sylvain hurt a little bit less.

Dimitri arrives in the late afternoon. His retinue is sizable, as befitting his annual tour of all the territories of Fódlan, and Ingrid is suddenly very glad for all of Fraldarius’s guest rooms and spacious barracks. _It’s funny, how that which was once a veritable maze to me as a child is now a social boon,_ she thinks with a smile.

“Your Majesty.” Ingrid bows. “Welcome to Fraldarius.”

Dimitri smiles easily at her. “There’s no need for such formalities,” he says.

From beside her, Ingrid hears Felix make a noise under his breath that she interprets as, _I told you so._ She resists the urge to elbow him. Instead, she scans the group with Dimitri, looking frantically for Ashe’s familiar face. She doesn’t know if she should be relieved or disappointed when she doesn’t see him. _It’s probably for the best that he’s not here,_ she tells herself. _It wouldn’t do to cause some sort of scene in front of the king._

When the greetings and pleasantries are dispensed with, Dimitri turns to Felix and inquires after the state of affairs in Fraldarius. As they talk, the group moves from the courtyard to the solar. “Dedue mentioned that he was curious about the local flora,” says Dimitri. “Ingrid, perhaps you could show him the garden.” It’s a dismissal, an excuse for Dimitri to talk privately to Felix, but it doesn’t bother Ingrid. She knows that Felix will tell her about it later. He’s always made it clear that Ingrid is his equal partner in governing Fraldarius.

“Of course,” Ingrid says and turns to Dedue with a smile. “Follow me.”

When they reach the garden, Ingrid does her best to show Dedue the local varieties of plants, but her knowledge is admittedly lacking. She can name only a handful of flowers, the ones that she likes best.

Dedue nods along politely, then says, “You know, Ashe asked for permission to be absent this portion of trip.” His voice tells Ingrid that he knows the reason why.

Although she has known Dedue for years and would trust him on a battlefield with her life in a heartbeat, it still feels unfathomably humiliating to know that the one person to know about her past indiscretion with Ashe is none other than the king’s righthand man. She cannot help the blush that creeps up her cheeks as she thinks about his apparent knowledge of her wartime love affair.

If he notices her fluster, Dedue doesn’t comment on it. “He is the king’s most capable knight,” he says. “Though you’d still best him, probably, if you had accepted His Majesty’s offer to be one of his sworn shields. Why didn’t you? I’d heard you’ve always wanted to be a knight.” His tone is light, carefully not accusatory.

“I told Dimitri before,” says Ingrid, sighing. “I had to fulfill my duty to my parents.”

“Do you love him?” asks Dedue suddenly.

Ingrid isn’t sure if he means Ashe or Felix. “Um,” she says stupidly.

Dedue gives her a look that falls somewhere between sympathy and pity. “The night Ashe told me about your relationship… I had never seen him so wrecked,” he says. “He had too much wine, I think.”

Ingrid squeezes her eyes shut and tries not to picture it.

“He cried when he told me,” continues Dedue. “He was really hurt by you marrying Felix, you know.”

“I didn’t want to hurt him,” Ingrid protests. “But I didn’t have a choice. I had to, for Galatea.”

“Ashe understands that. He doesn’t begrudge you for you doing what you had to do to support your family. But you didn’t tell him that it was _Felix_ you were marrying, or even invite him to your wedding as a friend, and that hurt him,” Dedue explains, in a gentle tone that offsets the harsh truth of his words.

Ingrid flinches as the realization of her callousness sinks in. “I… I could’ve handled that better, I suppose,” she admits. “I was hurting too, but I should’ve been more thoughtful to his feelings.”

“Do you love him?” Dedue asks again, and this time, Ingrid knows who he is talking about.

“Ashe always made me feel like the best version of myself,” she says softly. “That’s a selfish reason to love someone, isn’t it?"

Dedue shakes his head. “I think that’s a very honorable reason,” he says and smiles gently at Ingrid. “To love someone because they make you your best self.”

Struck by the sudden urge to cry, Ingrid blinks hard and looks up the sky. “He deserves to be happy,” she says in a broken voice.

“Ashe is a good man,” agrees Dedue. He pats her on the shoulder, then says, “Thank you for showing me your lovely garden.”

Ingrid is quiet when they rejoin Felix and Dimitri in the solar. She tries desperately not to think about Ashe. It’s futile after what Dedue told her. She forces herself to smile when Dimitri addresses her, but her mind is elsewhere. Why _hadn’t_ she told Ashe that it was Felix she was going to marry? Was it guilt? Or was it because she didn’t want Ashe to write to Felix in an attempt to stop their wedding? Because he would have, she suspects.

 _Is he in Fhirdiad thinking of me right now?_ she wonders. She thinks of him most every day, in spite of her efforts to let go of him. He’ll always hold a special place in her heart, she knows. _Does he feel the same way about me?_

She wants to run from the room, throw herself on her bed and cry like a silly teenager, but she’s an adult now. She is the Duchess of Fraldarius. She makes herself participate in the various conversations and wait until the day comes to an end, when Dimitri and his courtiers retire to their guest rooms for the evening.

“So what did Dimitri want?” Ingrid asks Felix once they are alone. “When he sent me off earlier to show the garden to Dedue, I mean.”

Felix snorts. “Oh, just to do that whole ‘Are you treating Ingrid right?’ interrogation,” he replies with a laugh. “You know how he’s always thought of you like the sister he never had.”

Ingrid can’t help but smile. “Surely he knows you would never mistreat me,” she says and presses a soft kiss to her husband’s cheek.

“You’d certainly punish me for it on the training grounds if I did,” agrees Felix. “You’re still the best damned fighter with a lance that I’ve ever met. I don’t know why Dimitri thinks you wouldn’t be able to handle yourself.”

“Aw, you sweet-talker, you,” teases Ingrid. She pats Felix’s arm, then announces her intention to get ready for bed. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

They’ve kept separate rooms since their wedding night, Ingrid in the lord’s room and Felix in his childhood bedroom, claiming the lord’s room was too full of his father’s presence for him to want it. They’re affectionate enough with each other that Ingrid suspects that no one has any reason to believe that they don’t think of each other the way normal husbands and wives do. There are plenty of couples amongst the nobility who aren’t in love with each other but still sleep together.

Ingrid thinks about it as she lies in bed, waiting for sleep to find her. It’s been a common worry of hers, though Felix has never been keen to discuss it.

“They’ll want an heir, you know,” she had told him once.

And Felix had scowled. “Who’s they?” he asked, if he didn’t know.

“Everyone. It’s just another part of our duty, isn’t it?” Ingrid hoped her voice didn’t betray the hopelessness she felt at the prospect.

“We’re still focusing on recovering from the war,” said Felix.

Ingrid had hummed in agreement, and wondered how long that excuse would hold up. _Only for a few more years,_ she thought.

She still thinks that. They can only ignore the problem for so long. She sighs and rolls over in bed, wishing for a simple solution that she knows doesn’t exist. _If only we hadn’t needed to get married._ It’s not that she’s unhappy in her marriage to Felix. He is kind in his own stubborn way, she enjoys certain aspects of her job as the duchess in Fraldarius, and they have always been dear to each other, but there is no romance in their marriage. There’s not even any lust. _If only there weren’t such expectations placed on us as nobility,_ thinks Ingrid morosely, before another thought occurs to her. _Or if only we were in love._

Again, she sighs and rolls over. _What a pointless train of thinking,_ she grumbles to herself, before eventually falling asleep.

The next morning, Ingrid rises early for a brisk walk around the estate. Normally, she’d prefer to go for a ride on horseback, but with the royal procession there, she can’t afford to risk being late to breakfast. The air is crisp. As she walks, Ingrid ponders her situation.

She will be expected to appear occasionally in Fhirdiad’s court as a member of the nobility. And Ashe is a prominent knight sworn to Dimitri. They will have to be in the same place sooner or later. They won’t be able to avoid each other forever.

 _Just like Felix and I won’t be able to avoid the question of children forever._ It’s an easy rabbit hole for Ingrid to fall down, agonizing over what she should do. She tries to picture approaching Felix and asking him to sleep with her, just to get it over with it. She can’t imagine it going well.

She still remembers their stilted and awkward wedding night, when Felix had nearly panicked at the thought of seeing her naked. _He doesn’t want me,_ thinks Ingrid with a rueful smile. And why would he? _I am not a pretty little delicate thing. I am not elegant, nor sweet. I am not beautiful._ When she was with Ashe, he had almost convinced her that she was. But that’s in the past now.

Felix never looks at her with anything like desire in his eyes.

It’s not that she wants him to, per se. She isn’t particularly attracted to him either, though she can recognize that he is objectively good-looking. Still, it would be nice for her own husband to find her appealing. _It would certainly make things easier if he did._

Her walk having failed to improve her mood, Ingrid returns to her room to freshen herself up before breakfast. The king is with them, after all. She must be presentable. She splashes cold water on her face, fixes her hair, then heads for the great hall, where the steward Simon is directing the household staff to lay the table for a grand breakfast.

“My lady.” Simon greets her with small bow.

“Good morning, Simon,” says Ingrid, mustering up a sense of cheeriness. “Everything looks lovely.”

Breakfast is a quiet affair. Ingrid suspects that much of Dimitri’s retinue are still half-asleep. Dedue certainly looks like he wishes he were still in bed, his eyes regularly dropping closed throughout the course of the meal. Even Felix, who is typically surprisingly alert in the mornings, is low energy. He chews slowly, speaks to Dimitri in hushed tones, smiles at Ingrid even less than normal.

But Felix just gets like that sometimes, Ingrid knows. Quiet and sad and a little bit less than his usual self.

Ingrid sighs to herself and moves an extra biscuit onto Felix’s plate when he isn’t looking.

After breakfast, the royal procession prepares to continue its tour across Fódlan. “I’m sorry I can’t stay longer,” says Dimitri with a frown. “Hopefully I’ll be able to visit again soon.”

“We’re always happy to see you,” Ingrid tells him, then nudges Felix. “Aren’t we, Felix?”

Felix scowls but agrees. “You know you’ll always be welcome in Fraldarius,” he says to Dimitri.

Seeming genuinely touched by the sentiment, Dimitri thanks them for their hospitality. As the retinue leaves, Dedue glances over his shoulder to meet Ingrid’s gaze and gives her a small, sympathetic smile.

Ingrid is sad to see them go. Despite her nerves surrounding the procession itself, it was nice to spend time with old friends. _Would I feel the same if Ashe had been here?_ she wonders, then immediately reprimands herself for the thought. _Put him out of your mind. There’s no point in thinking about him anymore._

“It would be nice to see him without all of the pageantry,” says Felix grumpily.

“Aw, Felix, are you feeling sentimental about your friendship with Dimitri?” Ingrid teases. She steps closer to him and links their arms together.

Felix rolls his eyes. “I’m never sentimental,” he says, his tone carrying the statement to a joke.

Ingrid laughs obligingly. “Yes, yes,” she says. “You have a heart of stone.”

“Thank you for acknowledging it,” replies Felix with a grin. He turns his head to press a light kiss to Ingrid’s temple before they return to the great hall to help Simon oversee the cleanup from breakfast.

It isn’t hard for them to play the role of loving husband and wife. _Just a game of pretend,_ Felix had once said. Ingrid is sure that to anyone watching they must look very happy together.

Like all couples, they have their disagreements. Like all former soldiers, they have their traumas. And when the two collide, it isn’t always pretty. Sometimes Felix is all cold and closed off, which Ingrid hates—a hypocritical reaction, she knows, given her own bevy of secrets. Sometimes Ingrid is the one who acts distant. And sometimes Felix flashes fiery rather than frigid, lashing out at anyone who tries to come close to him.

Still, Ingrid always tries.

When Felix shuts himself in his room for two days, Ingrid takes a tray of his favorite foods from the kitchen and knocks furiously on his door. “I know you’re in there!” she shouts. “You can’t hide from me, Felix!”

No response.

Setting the tray down, Ingrid takes a deep breath and does her best to channel her teenaged self who once bust down a door at Garreg Mach. “You can’t hide from me,” she repeats, more to herself than to Felix, then aims a powerful kick at the door right under the knob.

The door doesn’t give. Ingrid grits her teeth and prepares to kick again, but before she can, Felix opens the door.

“Don’t break the door in, you maniac!” he hisses, eyes dark and wild.

Worried he’ll shut the door again, Ingrid snatches the tray of food off the ground and pushes into Felix’s room before he can tell her to go away. “You shouldn’t lock yourself away like this,” she tells him chidingly.

Felix closes the door with a decisive click, then crosses his arms and glares at Ingrid. “I don’t really see how it’s any of your business if I lock myself in my room or not,” he mutters.

Ignoring his sulkiness, Ingrid holds the tray out to him. “I brought you some food,” she says. “You should eat.”

“Ah, Ingrid, always thinking about food,” says Felix sneeringly. The words are familiar, but his voice lacks the affection Ingrid was used to. He sounds angry.

It makes Ingrid nervous. She sets the tray of food down on Felix’s bedside table. “Have some water, at lea—”

Felix interrupts her. “Why are you even here? Why am I here? What’s the fucking point?” he snarls. “Why should I bother?”

“You know that’s not fair, Felix,” protests Ingrid.

“Yes, well, life isn’t fair,” says Felix bitterly. “If it were, you’d be a knight and I’d be dead.”

Ingrid reels at his words. “Don’t say that!” she snaps.

“Look, all I’m saying is that one of us actually deserves the title ‘The Shield of Faerghus’ and it sure as hell isn’t me,” Felix bites back. “Come on, Ingrid, why _aren’t_ you a knight?”

“Because I married you instead!” The moment the words leave her mouth, Ingrid wishes she could take them back.

Felix stares at her. “Do you resent me?” he asks, eyes narrowed.

Ingrid shakes her head. “No, of course not,” she says quietly. She fiddles with her hands, then, in order to stop herself from picking at the skin around her fingernails, reaches out to grasp Felix byhis shoulders. “I promise I don’t resent you.”

“Don’t patronize me,” Felix spits and wrenches away from her. “And don’t lie to me!”

“I’m _not_.” Ingrid sighs, tucks her arms around herself, and explains, “It’s the system I resent, not you.”

“The system?”

Ingrid sighs again. “Being a noble and all the silly rules and expectations,” she elaborates. Feeling tired, she sits down on the corner of Felix’s bed.Felix’s mouth quirks into something almost like a grin. “So you admit it now?” he asks. “That the principles of nobility and knighthood are foolish and soul-sucking?”

“I wouldn’t go that far,” says Ingrid with an exasperated smile. “But… yes. I understand your point of view better now. Chivalry and courtly ideals aren’t as perfect as I had dreamed them to be when we were teenagers.”

Their fights, though infrequent, have always gone like this, ever since they were children. Furious words, as cruel as they can be, followed by an easy lapse back into a companionship deeply rooted in caring about each other.

Felix sits down next Ingrid, rests his head against her shoulder, and asks, “Remember that idiotic book on ethics? The one you used to try to beat me over the head with.”

“Yes, I remember the book, though I disagree with your description of it,” says Ingrid, laughing at his phrasing. She leans her cheek against the top of Felix’s head.

“Well, I remember that your big takeaway from it was that in order to be a true knight, one should always follow their heart,” Felix says quietly. “Did you? Did you follow your heart?”

Ingrid freezes. She _had_ once talked a big game to Felix about how she had to follow her heart—and that he should too—but ultimately, when it came down to the line, she had chosen duty instead. They both had. “I…” She hadn’t followed her heart. Ingrid sighs and closes her eyes. “No,” she admits in a small voice.

Felix pulls away from her then, and Ingrid opens her eyes again to look at the way he studies her face. His gaze is dark, unreadable. “No,” he agrees. “I didn’t either.”

But life goes on.

Ingrid tucks a stray lock of hair behind Felix’s ear, then stands to fetch the tray of food. “You really should eat something,” she tells him, and it comes out more petulantly than she intended. “I brought your favorites, you know.”

Finally, Felix graces her with a smile—a real one. “I’m sorry for being mean earlier,” he says, taking the tray from her. “I know how important food is to you.” _I know that you bringing me food means you care about me,_ is what he really means. He doesn’t have to say it for Ingrid to know.

They share the food, sitting together in companionable silence. Eventually, Ingrid says, “For whatever it’s worth, I’m glad you’re not dead. And, I know you’re still hurting from the war. Do you… Would you want to talk about it sometime?”

“No,” replies Felix immediately. He flashes her a guilty-looking frown. “I can’t right now, Ingrid. I just… I can’t. I’m sorry.”

His answer, in a way, relieves Ingrid. She isn’t sure if she’s really ready to talk about it with him either. “There’s nothing to be sorry for,” she says softly.

“That’s kind of you to say, but that’s definitely not true,” says Felix, rolling his eyes. “I know I’m not the easiest person to get along with. I’m know I’m difficult sometimes. Thank you for putting up with me.”

There is a sincerity in his voice, a vulnerability in his posture, that gives Ingrid pause. “You’re my best friend,” she tells him.

Felix gives her a look. “That doesn’t mean you had to—” He cuts himself off abruptly and stuffs a meat skewer into his mouth. Ingrid waits patiently for him to chew and swallow, then he says, “You’re my best friend too, Ingrid. But still, that doesn’t mean you should have to put up with me when I’m in my worst moods.”

“Maybe I don’t _have_ to,” says Ingrid carefully, “but I’m choosing to.”

“Why?” Felix asks in his typical blunt manner.

Ingrid nibbles on a piece of jerky while she thinks about it. “Well, we’re… partners now, aren’t we? We should look out for each other,” she explains.

Felix laughs. “You’ve always looked out for me,” he says with a soft smile.

“I suppose that’s true,” agrees Ingrid.

Their friendship goes back more than twodecades. They’ve shared so many hardships, so many sorrows. And Ingrid always been fiercely protective of her friends. She has long been well-versed in looking out for Felix, just as she did for Sylvain. The opportunities to take care of Dimitri are few and fair between these days, but Ingrid still steps up to the task when she can.

One such opportunity arrives a few weeks later in the form of a letter from Fhirdiad. Simon delivers it to Felix over lunch. If Ingrid is reminded of a time when she once shared a meal with Ashe while he received a letter from Dimitri, she doesn’t admit it to herself. _There’s no point in thinking about that._

Felix’s brow furrows as he reads the letter.

“What is it?” asks Ingrid.

“Summons to Court,” Felix tells her. “Dimitri requires support in a political disagreement.”

Ingrid nods. Such is the duty of the nobility within the king’s inner circle. “How soon must you go?” she asks.

Shaking his head, Felix corrects her. “The summons aren’t for me, Ingrid. They’re for _you_.”

“Oh!” She hasn’t been back to Fhirdiad since she became Lady Fraldarius. The prospect feels foreign and funny in a way. “Did he say why?”

Felix laughs. “No, but it’s probably because the situation requires a lighter and more diplomatic touch than I am capable of,” he says, then passes the letter to Ingrid.

She reads it quickly. “I should leave today,” she surmises, “if I am to make it there in time.”

Felix looks surprised. “You’re not going to fly there?” he asks, confused.

“I’ll have to appear as a proper noble lady,” explains Ingrid with a wry smile. “Flying always makes me look windswept, you know.”

“It suits you, though,” Felix teases. There is an easy affection in his gaze as he looks at her.

Ingrid rolls her eyes. “Still, it wouldn’t be appropriate for Court,” she says chidingly. She hands the letter back to him, her mind already working through the necessary arrangements for her trip to Fhirdiad.

“Go ahead and get ready,” Felix tells her. “I’ll have Simon prepare your horse.”

Ingrid thanks him, then leaves to change into something more formal. She picks a dark green tunic, comfortable enough to ride in but fancy enough for Court. Over it she layers her favorite cloak. Her cloak pin is a delicate piece of metalwork depicting the crests of Daphnel and Fraldarius intertwining—a wedding gift from her parents to signify the joining of their bloodlines.

She takes one final glance in the looking glass to be certain everything looks appropriate, before heading to the gates to meet Simon. The steward hands her horse’s reins over to her with a murmured, “Safe travels, my lady.”

“Thank you, Simon,” says Ingrid. She swings up into the saddle. “Hopefully I won’t be gone for too long.”

“Fraldarius always feels your absence keenly,” Simon tells her, smiling fondly.

Ingrid laughs. “That’s sweet of you to say.”

She enjoys the ride. She’s always loved being astride a horse, and even when she’s riding for the purpose of attending to some political nonsense at the capital, she still finds it be a pleasant experience. It’s familiar. Soothing in a way.

When she reaches Fhirdiad, a courtier meets her at the castle gates and ushers her through to the room where Dimitri is meeting with a handful of minor nobles from the lands that were once called Leicester and Adrestia. The reunification of Fódlan had never been Dimitri’s intention, but now that has happened, he must deal with the messy complications that come with it.

And Ingrid will always stand with her king. She fought by his side in the war. She will stay by his side for its aftermath. Her sense of identity is inextricably tied up in her commitment to fulfilling her duty.

Ultimately it is a boring meeting. Ingrid knows that her presence signifies support from both Fraldarius and Galatea—an important alliance for Dimitri to emphasize—but she can’t help but feel like she contributed little to the discussion.

Afterwards, she walks quietly through the halls of Fhirdiad. The castle is so full of memories. As a child, she often spent the winter holidays at the capital, playing and cavorting with Felix, Dimitri, Sylvain, and Glenn. Then, during the war, the army had spent a fortnight recovering in the castle after retaking it from Cornelia. For every happy moment Ingrid recalls, she can think of an accompanying sad one.

 _Such is life,_ she muses and wanders towards the royal library, an old favorite stomping ground of hers. It was where she first read the story of Loog and the Maiden of Wind. _I wonder if the same copy of the book is still here._

As she approaches the library, its heavy oaken doors swing open for someone leaving. The person turns to look at her, and, _Oh—_

The smile drops from her face as Ashe stares at her. Her heart feels heavy in her chest, tight with painful surprise and unresolved longing. Ingrid isn’t sure if they’ve been alone together since she told him she was getting married. “Ashe,” she manages to say. “Hello.”

“Lady Fraldarius.” The title sounds cold on Ashe’s tongue.

Ingrid frowns. “I’m still just Ingrid,” she tells him.

Ashe raises his eyebrows at her, as if to say, _Are you?_

“I hear you’re the best knight Dimitri has,” Ingrid says, needing desperately to move the conversation away from herself.

“Perhaps I should challenge your husband for the title of ‘The Shield of Faerghus,’” says Ashe, tilting his head to one side. His tone bothers Ingrid. He sounds bored and spiteful and sad all at once. It feels so _wrong_ coming from him.

 _Oh, Ashe, what did I_ do _to you?_ she thinks despairingly. Smoothing her hands down the front of her tunic, Ingrid tries to settle her nerves. “Perhaps you should,” she agrees for lack of anything else to say.

Ashe’s eyes darken. “Don’t say that,” he grits out.

“You said it first!” snaps Ingrid, feeling defensive for a reason she doesn’t understand.

“Dammit, Ingrid. No. _You_ can’t say that,” Ashe snaps back. He steps closer to her, and Ingrid is torn between wanting to reach out for him and wanting to flee from his piercing gaze. “Don’t you get it?”

“Get _what_?”

Ashe reaches for her then, and Ingrid goes still as his hand finds her shoulder. “You can’t say these things that give me false hope,” he says fiercely.

“False—” Ingrid began to ask, but Ashe cuts her off.

“It isn’t Felix’s _title_ that I want to challenge him for!” he hisses, his face pinching. “It’s _you_ , Ingrid!”

 _Oh._ The admission makes Ingrid feel breathless. It makes her feel helplessly young again. It makes her feel a profound guilt deep in her bones.

“So don’t say things that make it sound like you want me to, unless you actually mean it,” Ashe grits out, before releasing her shoulder and turning away from her. He rubs a hand over his face, his back to her, and Ingrid can tell from the way his body shudders that he’s fighting tears.

Ingrid reaches a hand towards his back, then thinks better of it. In a different timeline, where she chose to turn her back on Galatea and became a knight with Ashe instead, she wouldn’t hesitate to wrap her arms around him, lay her head on his shoulder, and whisper comforting words into his ear until he calmed down. She wants to. But she made her decision. _You had to do your duty,_ she reminds herself, but the situation still leaves a bitter taste in her mouth.

Especially when she can see Ashe breaking apart before her very eyes. “Ingrid, why are you in Fhirdiad?” he asks miserably, still unable to face her.

“Dimitri summoned me,” explains Ingrid in a quiet voice. “He needed my political support in Court.”

“Why do you have to be here?” Ashe asks, as though she hadn’t spoken. He sounds tortured by her very presence. “Can’t you just stay far away in Fraldarius?”

His agonized question hits her like a knife to the gut. “I… I’ll go now,” she mutters. She is careful not to look at Ashe as she walks past him, her hands clenched into fists so tight she can feel her fingernails biting into her palms.

It is a lonely, cold journey back to Fraldarius, and as she rides, Ingrid can’t help but wonder if she really made the right choice when she decided to marry Felix.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, I come with an [illustration](https://twitter.com/oneletterdiff/status/1317936452160819200?s=20) for the previous chapter.
> 
> If you're fan of Ingrid and Felix being best friends, Ingrid/Ashe, and also soulmates AUs, you might like my multi-ship fic [Sole](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25909432) (currently on hiatus as I finish Ingrid Rarepair Week and a few bigbang art pieces). And if you like stories about Ingrid deciding that the best way to help her people is to get married and be a noble instead of becoming a knight, you might like the Sylvain/Ingrid fic [hypernovae](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24901444) by Ethereally (currently in progress).


	4. Zephyr

In her dreams, Ingrid walks through a sunlight-dappled forest. She’s looking for someone, she knows, but she isn’t sure who. It’s distressing. And when she notices that there’s someone walking behind her, following her, she whirls around, hands reaching for a lance she doesn’t have.

But it’s just Sylvain.

“Whoa there, Ingrid,” he tells her with an easy grin. “What’s got you so worked up?”

“I’m dreaming,” realizes Ingrid sadly. She contemplates hugging him. She would like to. She misses him terribly. But would it be pitiful for her to go chasing after his presence when she knows it’s only a dream?

Sylvain tilts his head at her. “Why do you think you’re dreaming?” he asks, brow furrowed with concern.

Deciding that there’s no point in trying to cling to any dignity within a dream, Ingrid steps forward and wraps Sylvain in a tight embrace. “I know I’m dreaming because you’re dead,” she whispers sadly into his chest.

“Dead?” repeats Sylvain quizzically. Then his voice changes into something darker as he hisses, “The dead will have their due!”

Ingrid’s heart hammers painfully as she jerks back to look at him, but it’s not Sylvain anymore. She stares into furious purple eyes. “You’re the one who killed me, Ingrid,” Lorenz snarls, blood spewing from his mouth. “Why did you kill me?”’

“You were going to kill Felix!” Ingrid shrieks back. She scrambles to run from him, as he swipes at her with inhumanly sharp nails.

“Another murderer!” spits Lorenz, and blood sprays across Ingrid’s back.

She dodges his clawing, only to be struck through the shoulder by an arrow that pins her to a nearby tree. Ingrid screams, then sobs. “I didn’t have a choice!”

Lorenz stalks closer to her, and just as he closes his hand around her throat, his eyes turn a brilliant shade of green.

Gasping, Ingrid awakes in a cold sweat. _It was just a dream,_ she reminds herself, smoothing her hands over the bedsheets. For a moment, she wishes Felix were in bed with her so that she could snuggle up to him for comfort.

But that’s not the type of marriage they have.

Felix is another room, down another hall, and Ingrid lies alone in her oversized bed. _It was just a dream,_ she tells herself again and tries to will her heartbeat to slow down. Her nightmares about the war are less frequent these days, but it still leaves her unsettled and anxious.

Unable to fall back asleep, she wraps a shawl around her shoulders and slips out of her room to walk around the estate. In the moonlight, the castle is quiet and serene. Ingrid enjoys the air, chilly and dry, before returning to her room, where, instead of sleeping, she lights a candle at her desk to go over paperwork for the household staff. Fraldarius has never had to worry about budgeting the way Galatea had, but she still likes to make sure that everything is going as it should be.

In the end, Ingrid falls asleep at her desk and wakes up in the mid-morning with ink smudged on her face. Chiding herself for her foolishness, she does her best to wash it off before breakfast.

If he notices any lingering evidence of ink on her face, Felix mercifully doesn’t comment on it. Instead, he reminds Ingrid that Dimitri is planning on coming by for a short personal visit.

“I’m glad he’s finally taking us up on our offer to get away from Fhirdiad and spend some time with us,” replies Ingrid with a happy sigh.

Felix makes a noise of agreement. He takes a sip of his tea and tucks into his breakfast with a gusto that makes Ingrid smile.

It’s nice to see Dimitri without the pomp and circumstance of a retinue or procession. Ingrid takes the day off from her paperwork and goes for a lazy horseback ride with him. Even Felix manages to keep out of the training yard for the day, instead taking Dimitri to a local market and coming back with a beautiful jug of exotic-looking wine.

“Traded from Dagda, the merchant said,” Dimitri tells Ingrid with an excited grin.

Ingrid laughs at his simple delight, and after dinner, the three of them retire to the parlor to open the wine.

Drinking with Felix and Dimitri is easy. Ingrid can almost pretend that they’re still just three friends enjoying each other’s company as they have since childhood. If she tries hard enough, she can nearly trick herself into believing that Sylvain will be along any second to join them.

The wine is spiced and strong, and Ingrid is careful to not drink it too quickly. She’s never liked the feeling of wine going to her head, but Felix and Dimitri don’t seem to share the sentiment. While she paces herself, Dimitri refills his and Felix’s glasses with a heavy pour.

Ingrid can tell that Felix has had too much to drink when he lets Dimitri take his hand and interlace their fingers. “You should spend more time in Fhirdiad,” says Dimitri earnestly. “You too, Ingrid. It would be nice to have more friendly faces at Court.”

Felix grumbles indistinctly under his breath. He rests his head on the table but doesn’t pull his hand away from Dimitri’s. “You know that Felix has never had much patience for the politics of Court,” says Ingrid. All of the members of the nobility are expected to filter through the capital across the course of a year, but some choose to spend more time there than others. Felix and Ingrid have always fallen into the latter category, absorbed in their work in Fraldarius.

“It was a selfish request on my part,” Dimitri says with a sigh. “I’m sure you two have plenty to do here anyways.”

The conversation lulls. Ingrid asks Dimitri about his recent visit to Byleth at Garreg Mach Monastery. He perks up at the question, sitting straighter and removing his hand from Felix’s as he animatedly tells Ingrid about their old professor’s new duties as the Archbishop of Seiros. It’s a change that still feels bizarre to Ingrid.

When Dimitri is done with his story, Felix pours them all another round of wine. “Here’s to the strange, new future,” he says sardonically.

“So, when are you two going to make me an uncle?” asks Dimitri, smiling knowingly over his wine glass.

Ingrid and Felix exchange glances. It’s a question they’re used to dodging from their retainers and Ingrid’s family, but it hits differently coming from Dimitri. “We’re still focusing on the rebuilding effort,” Ingrid says and hurries to take another sip from her drink. It’s been their go-to excuse for years, but it only gets flimsier the further they get from the end of the war.

“What better way to rebuild than to have a couple of youngsters?” Dimitri asks with a laugh.

Suddenly, Felix confesses, “We’re not trying. We’ve never even been together.”

Ingrid chokes on her wine, and Dimitri coughs in surprise. He has gone scarlet at the news. “Why not?” he asks, then looks like he immediately regrets the question. “I mean, you… you’re married, and you clearly love each other, so…”

 _We clearly love each other?_ Ingrid isn’t sure where Dimitri got the notion from. Of course she cares deeply about Felix — he is one of her oldest and dearest friends — but she feels much the same about Dimitri. It doesn’t make sense. While Felix’s admission has shocked her back to feeling almost sober, she suspects that the two men are still clouded by the wine.

“Ingrid doesn’t love me,” says Felix. “We’re just two friends playing at husband and wife.”

“I’m right here, you know,” Ingrid says scathingly. “And that’s not true, Felix. I… I do love you.”

Felix gives her a look. “Not like you love Ashe,” he says accusingly, and Ingrid’s heart stops.

 _He knows? He wasn’t supposed to know. If he knows and Dedue knows, who else knows?_ _Was the secret I carried for so long ever even really a secret?_ “I… that’s…” Ingrid doesn’t know what to say to that. Eventually, she finds her tongue and settles on saying, “That’s entirely in the past. And besides, you don’t love me like that either.”

“No,” agrees Felix. “But I could. Maybe. If you wanted.”

Dimitri looks like he wishes he hadn’t started the conversation. He looks like he wishes he were anywhere else other than in the room with the two of them. He shifts uncomfortably in his chair.

“Where is this coming from, Felix?” Ingrid asks. She had thought, perhaps naïvely, they would never talk about feelings in their marriage, that they would continue on forever in quiet, bland companionship.

Felix shrugs. “We were going to have to have this conservation eventually,” he says. “Remaining childless for the rest of our lives was never going to be an option.”

Ingrid flushes. “That’s… I… sex and love aren’t the same thing,” she stammers out.

“How _noble_ of you to offer to sleep with me for the purpose of duty,” says Felix bitingly. “I know you don’t want that. I don’t want it either.”

“Then what do you want from me?” Ingrid asks despairingly.

“I don’t know!” Felix shouts. “There’s no easy answer, no fix-it-all solution that will make it better. But I’m tired of just ignoring it!”

Dimitri stands up abruptly. “Don’t talk to Ingrid like that,” he says in a commanding tone. His face is cold as he glares down at Felix.

Felix scowls back. “I don’t see how it’s any of your business how I talk to my wife,” he says, voice dripping with scorn. “Even if you are my king.”

“I am not making this request as your king,” says Dimitri coolly, “but as your friend and hers.”

Ingrid stands up as well. She isn’t sure how the evening went sideways so quickly. “I think it’s high time we all turned in for the night.” To Dimitri, she says, “I’d be happy to show you to the room we’ve prepared for you.”

Dimitri looks unhappy, but he allows her to lead him from the parlor, leaving Felix sitting alone at the table. Once they are in the hall, he asks, “Does he talk to you like that often?” Unmistakably angry at the prospect, he continues, “Ingrid, that’s not acceptable.”

“No, he doesn’t usually talk to me like that,” says Ingrid. “Dimitri, it’s fine.”

“I… I’m sorry for bringing up children. I didn’t realize that the two of you… I didn’t know your marriage was, ah… unconventional,” says Dimitri, sounding guilty and flustered.

Ingrid sighs. “That’s not your fault,” she says. “Felix and I try hard to make our marriage appear normal.”

When they arrive at the guest room, Dimitri asks, “What did Felix mean? About Ashe?”

“That’s… We were lovers during the war,” says Ingrid uncomfortably.

“Really?” There is no denying the surprise in Dimitri’s voice. “I had no idea. Why did things end between you?

Ingrid gives Dimitri an incredulous look. “Felix proposed.”

Dimitri’s eye widens as the story finally becomes clear to him. “Oh! Oh, Ingrid. I… I didn’t realize. Oh.” He sounds sad.

“Galatea needed the money from our match. That was why I turned down your offer of being one of your knights,” explains Ingrid, figuring that she might as well tell Dimitri the full truth of it.

“Ingrid, I’m so sorry. I didn’t know,” Dimitri murmurs, then laughs under his breath in a self-deprecating manner. “When I’d heard the news about you and Felix, I had assumed it was a love match. The two of you were always close. It seemed natural for the two of you to wed.”

The sentiment, like his earlier comment of “you clearly love each other,” strikes Ingrid as funny. Not feeling ready to dig into that train of thought, she bids Dimitri a good night, and makes her way back to the parlor.

Felix is still at the table when she returns. He sits with a defeated, defensive posture.

“If you want to talk about the state of our marriage, we can have that conversation when we’re alone and sober,” Ingrid tells him.

“You sound like my mother,” says Felix sullenly. “Disappointed in me.”

“I _am_ disappointed in you,” Ingrid says. “And I’m going to bed.” With that, she turns on her heel and leaves him alone with the mostly empty jug of wine and his thoughts.

In the morning, they share a tense breakfast with Dimitri. Ingrid isn’t sure what to say to Felix, and he doesn’t seem to be any more interested in making small talk than she is. Dimitri valiantly attempts to carry the conversation, yammering away about this and that between bites of his breakfast, but his voice shakes as he talks, giving away his lingering discomfort with the previous night’s argument.

He finishes his rambling with an awkward, “And the marmalade on this toast is just… delightful,” then takes a long gulp of his tea.

Ingrid sighs internally. _What a miserable start to the day,_ she thinks.

After breakfast, it comes as no surprise when Dimitri is quick to bid farewell. “I really ought to get back to Fhirdiad,” he tells them.

“Your kingly duties call,” agrees Ingrid with a smile. She can’t fault him for wanting to get away from the unexpected drama they churned up the night before.

When Dimitri has left, Felix turns to Ingrid with a wary look. “I’m sorry for what I said last night,” he says flatly. “I didn’t mean it.”

Resisting the urge to roll her eyes, Ingrid replies, “You meant it. You wouldn’t have said it otherwise, would you?”

“I shouldn’t have said it the way I did,” amends Felix. He looks embarrassed, his cheeks flushed the slightest pink.

“So can we talk about it?” asks Ingrid evenly. Like Felix, she is tired of ignoring the messy knot at the heart of their unconventional marriage, though she’s not sure if she would’ve realized it until he said it first. “And I don’t just mean what you said last night.”

Felix’s mouth twists, but he nods. “Not here though,” he says. “Let’s go to your room.”

They walk in silence. Ingrid focuses on the quiet sounds of their feet against the stone floors of the castle’s halls. Fraldarius is one of the oldest houses of Faerghus—not that Faerghus technically exists anymore. It’s all Unified Fódlan now, but the three regions are culturally disparate enough that Ingrid probably isn’t the only person to privately consider them separate entities. So even if Faerghus is no longer the name used on any maps, Ingrid still feels its presence. Especially when she thinks about her own place in its history. _Felix and I are committed to continuing the decorated name of Fraldarius,_ she thinks, running her eyes over the ancient stones that make up the castle walls. _That’s our duty._

When they reach her room—the lord’s room—Ingrid hesitates in the doorway. _Once we start unraveling this conversation, we can never take it back,_ she muses. _We will never be able to go back to pretending that there isn’t something unstable lying under the foundation of our marriage._

Felix brushes past her, walking purposefully into the center of the room, then looks back at her. “Are you coming?” he asks.

Ingrid focuses her gaze on the familiar little crease between his brows and realizes that the conversation they are about to have has likely been inevitable since the moment Felix proposed to her. “Yes, of course,” she tells him, stepping through the door and closing it behind her.

“I _am_ sorry for my behavior last night,” says Felix hesitantly, as she turns back towards him. “I know I was out of line.”

“Let’s consider it the necessary impetus to talk about some things we probably should have talked about a long time ago,” replies Ingrid calmly. She’s more baffled than hurt by the way Felix acted.

He frowns, crosses his arms, then uncrosses them again. “You’re right that we should’ve had a fuller discussion about our marriage,” he agrees, “and I should’ve told you that it was bothering me before just blowing up at you in front of Dimitri. I’m sorry for that.”

“Stop apologizing for it. You brought it up, and I’m glad you did, but… just _tell_ me what you have to say about our marriage, about what you want to do about it and the future and the fact that we’re expected to have to kids,” says Ingrid, feeling exasperated. She suspects that Felix is just as nervous as she is, and is stalling to put off beginning the conversation that he ultimately initiated.

It’s frustrating.

She goes to pick at the skin around her thumbnail before thinking better. _I need something to do with my hands,_ Ingrid thinks, then glances at the vanity in the corner of the room. She gestures Felix towards the chair in front of it. “Sit down, and I’ll braid your hair,” she offers.

Felix obediently takes a seat, and Ingrid retrieves a brush from the drawer of the vanity. “What type of braid did you have in mind?” he asks, meeting her reflection’s gaze in the mirror as she comes to stand behind him.

“What type of braid would you like?” asks Ingrid. She pulls the brush through Felix’s hair and is pleased to find it doesn’t encounter any terrible snags.

“I trust your judgement,” says Felix by way of response.

Ingrid hums to herself, runs the brush through his hair a few more times, then leans past him to drop the brush on the vanity table. Checking on Felix’s expression in the mirror—his eyes are closed and he looks calm—she begins to braid.

Felix is quiet as she works, and Ingrid bites her tongue to stop herself from demanding he start talking. She knows he will once he feels able. _You can’t rush him into talking about his feelings,_ she reminds herself. It’s always been true of Felix, for as long as she has known him. _Just be patient._

And when he eventually speaks, it is in the form of a sudden, painful confession: “I still miss her every day.”

Ingrid’s hands go still in his hair. There’s no need to ask who he is referring to. When it comes to Felix, there has only ever been one “her,” even if they’ve never really talked about Annette before. She doesn’t respond, afraid that if she says anything, Felix will spook and never speak of it again.

“She was… she was like the sun, to me,” Felix continues, voice aching with grief. “Bright. Brilliant. Beautiful. Everything I ever dreamed of. She kept me warm, you know?”

“I know,” says Ingrid softly. And it’s true. She does know. She’s not sure if she ever would have been able to put it into those words, but that’s exactly how she felt when she was with Ashe. _Is it harder to love a ghost who never died?_ she wonders.

Felix shifts in his chair, his shoulders slumping forward as he takes a deep shuddering breath. “I kind of thought I’d marry her,” he tells Ingrid, his voice so quiet she almost misses it.

It isn’t hard for Ingrid to picture it. Annette would’ve brought a delightful vivaciousness to Fraldarius, her endearing nature teasing something sweeter out of Felix. _They would’ve been so happy together,_ Ingrid knows. She drops her hands from Felix’s hair to his shoulders, where she squeezes him and hopes it conveys the comfort she wants to give him. “Felix, I am so sorry,” she murmurs.

He twists around to look at Ingrid. His eyes are misty and full of remorse. “Did you ever dream about marrying Ashe?” he asks.

Ingrid isn’t sure how to answer. Yes, she had dreamed of spending the rest of her life with him. But she had never thought about it in terms of marriage. They would’ve been knights together. Partners. Lovers. Not husband and wife. The distinction feels incredibly large in Ingrid’s mind, but she’s not sure if Felix would see the difference, so she tells him, “Yes, I suppose I did.”

“Were you ever with him after we got married?” asks Felix.

Ingrid shakes her head immediately. “Never,” she replies. “I only ever kissed him one time after you proposed.”

“I should’ve told you that you could’ve kept seeing him,” Felix says quietly. “It was cruel of me to trap you in a loveless marriage. I didn’t expect you to suddenly not want or need him, but I should’ve realized that you’d hold fast to our wedding vows, empty as they were.”

“You didn’t trap me,” protests Ingrid.

Felix fixes her with a steady gaze. “I was so wrapped up in my grief,” he says. “I just didn’t want to be alone anymore.”

Ingrid can’t even begin to imagine how Felix must have felt directly after the war ended, floundering by himself in the long shadow of losing first Annette, then his father, and finally Sylvain. She reaches out to take Felix’s hand in hers. “You didn’t trap me,” she repeats firmly. “I always knew that my parents needed me to marry someone with significantly more money than Ashe could provide. If it wasn’t you, it would’ve been someone else. I’ve always said that I’m glad it was you I married, and I’ve always meant it. Yes, I have had my moments of doubt and wondering, but in the end, I stand by it. I’m glad it’s you.”

“You’re so good to me, Ingrid,” says Felix with a self-deprecating little laugh. Glancing down at their joined hands, he smooths his thumb over Ingrid’s knuckles, then admits, “I almost wrote to Ashe about it once. I was going to invite him to bed with us.”

“What do you mean?” Ingrid flushes at the idea.

Felix’s lips quirk into a bitter smile. “I knew we’d be expected to… I knew we had to have children, and I wanted it to be as pleasant for you as possible,” he explains. “I thought having your lover join us would make it better.”

Shaking her head and pulling back, Ingrid immediately rejects the idea. “No.”

“Well, obviously. The time for that option has long since passed,” says Felix. He makes an unhappy face. “When was the last time either of us was on good terms with Ashe?”

“Are _you_ on bad terms with him too?” asks Ingrid curiously.

Felix arches an eyebrow at her. “I married his lover,” he points out.

Ingrid’s blush deepens. “Surely he doesn’t hold that against you.”

“Well, I’m not sure. We’ve never talked about it, or much of anything these days, so I’m just assuming he’s upset with me,” says Felix.

Sighing, Ingrid rests her chin on Felix’s shoulder. “When did everything become such a mess?” she wonders aloud.

Felix leans his cheek against hers. “I suspect there was never going to be any easy path forward after the end of the war, regardless of whatever personal choices we made,” he says quietly.

“Do you regret the choices you made?” asks Ingrid. She bites her lip, then continues on with her real question: “Do you regret asking me to marry you?”

“I regret the way I did it,” replies Felix carefully. Turning his face, he touches his nose against her cheek. “I should’ve been more forthright and more thoughtful with regards to your own situation and feelings. But I don’t regret marrying you.” His breath is warm on Ingrid’s skin. It feels strangely intimate.

 _I could turn and kiss him right now,_ thinks Ingrid. She has kissed Felix on the cheek many times. She has peppered kisses into his hair and tenderly to his forehead more than she count. But she hasn’t kissed him on the lips since their wedding day. She hasn’t thought he would want her to. Suddenly, she isn’t so sure.

As if he can read her thoughts, Felix nudges forward to press a kiss to her cheek. “I don’t regret marrying you,” he repeats, more firmly.

Ingrid smiles, then asks, “What did you mean last night, when you said that you _could_ love me, if I wanted?”

“Ah.” Felix’s voice is soft, ginger. “Well, I just meant that… a lot of noble couples don’t marry for love, but they learn to love each other anyways,” he explains slowly. “I didn’t think you wanted that, but… would it make you happier?”

“Are you offering to will yourself into falling in love with me?” asks Ingrid, arching an eyebrow.

“Okay, it sounds ridiculous when you put it like that,” Felix says with a wry smile. He reaches out to tuck a loose lock of hair behind Ingrid’s ear and kisses her cheek again. “But I _am_ very fond of you, and I could try. I could try to be romantic with you, and maybe I would fall in love.”

Something in his voice makes Ingrid blush. “I could try too,” she offers, “if you wanted.”

Felix tilts his head to one side, contemplating. “I might want it,” he admits quietly.

Ingrid nods. She smiles. She presses closer to Felix, angling her mouth against the shell of his ear. “I can do that,” she whispers.

Laughing, Felix pulls back to look at her. “Are you trying to be alluring?” he asks, sounding somewhere between amused and bewildered.

“Is it working?” asks Ingrid. She licks her lips in an overly exaggerated move to let him know that she isn’t taking herself too seriously.

“Do you want me to be romantic too?” Felix asks and slings an arm around her shoulders.

Not for the first time, Ingrid tries to imagine what intimacy with Felix would be like. She tries to picture kissing him and holding him and touching him. It’s a strange image, but not an unpleasant one. _It would probably be preferable to the way we are now,_ she thinks. She rests her head on Felix’s shoulder and tells him, “I think I would like that.”

Felix wraps his other arm around her in a tight hug and kisses the top of her head. “We can work on that together,” he says quietly.

“Together,” Ingrid agrees. She leans into Felix’s embrace, savoring the feeling.

It gets easier eventually. It doesn’t hurt as much when she is occasionally to Fhirdiad for the purpose of politics and she sees Ashe standing as one of Dimitri’s sworn knights. She gives him a small sad smile, and he meets her gaze a remorseful kindness in his eyes. They don’t speak to each other much at first, but little by little they relearn something akin to friendship.

“Can I tell you how sorry I am for the way I ended things? I shouldn’t have shut you out after that, and I’m really sorry,” Ingrid tells him during a moment alone in the halls of Fhirdiad.

Ashe looks sheepish. “I owe you an apology too,” he says. “I haven’t been kind to you recently.”

Ingrid shakes her head. “I don’t fault you for that. I think everyone gets a little mean when their feelings are hurt.”

“I’m still sorry for it,” replies Ashe, his sincerity evident in his voice.

It gets easier. Ingrid goes with Felix to the School of Sorcery to discuss establishing a scholarship, with the blessings of House Dominic, in Annette’s name. “It’s high time we did something useful with all of the wealth my ancestors accumulated,” says Felix. His voice is gruff in a way that Ingrid recognizes as him covering up emotional vulnerability.

“I think she would be pleased with this,” she tells him softly. “I think she’d be proud of you.”

Felix smiles, something small but hopeful—a promise of growth and things to come. He reaches for Ingrid’s hand and squeezes tight.

Ingrid brushes her thumb over his knuckles, then brings his hand to her lips to give it a gentle kiss.She knows that someday she will ask Felix into her bed and that when she does, he will be attentive and gentle and kind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And thus it concludes. Well, for now. I have some planned spin-off stories. More on that later. I spent half a year working on this fic, building the plot and whatnot, so I don't feel quite ready to say goodbye to this particular sandbox. Thank you to everyone who read and commented. You're awesome and I hope you're all having as good of a time as one can have during these trying times.
> 
> When my friend R, who beta'ed this story for me, got to the part where Felix tells Ingrid he almost invited Ashe to have a threesome with them, his comment was, and I quote, ";L IJA SDG IOAER J;IOGA ‘JAIFG." If you read that line and thought, "Aw man, why didn't he? That would've been great," then boy do I have some good news for you! I am in the process of writing a smutty spin-off story exploring how that would've gone. Here's an illustrated (non-explicit) [sneak peak](https://twitter.com/oneletterdiff/status/1318799468213411841?s=20). Actually, I'm feeling generous, have [another](https://twitter.com/oneletterdiff/status/1318995101872398338?s=20)!
> 
> And if you like behind-the-scenes stuff and also are upsetti spaghetti that Sylvain died in this fic, you might enjoy [this post](https://oneletterdiff.tumblr.com/post/632613792695599104/htmas-behind-the-scenes) on my tumblr where I include a snippet of a deleted scene with Sylvain from the original version where he survives the war.


End file.
